Living Under Two Shadows
by Flame Falcon
Summary: The Traitor's Brother, The Betrayed Child, and lordling. They are names and title for Marek, heir apparent to the throne of Felirae. He has been compared to his wayward brother and honorable father. Bound to the molds others see him as, and with a gathering of nobility to decide the fate of his homelands, he will forge his own path. Both unique and very similar to those before him.
1. Chapter 1

**Well, here I am with another continuation of the saga I am writing for Tellius. This one is a tad different from my other stories because the focus is going to be more on an original character from a previous story, Regrets, and more on intrigue rather than fight scenes. That is not toe say that there will not be established characters or some swordplay, but less then other stories. Please enjoy.**

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Geoffrey knew that his young ward must have spent the entire night up again, judging from the unmolested sheets he found on the bed. While most 'parents' would be concerned to find their ward drinking in unsavory company and whoring around the seedy district, Geoffrey's adopted child stayed inside when he was up all night. Well, most of the time. He did recall one unsavory time he had to walk down to a pub to drag him and Malakov, the self proclaimed champion of vice, by the ear to the castle well after midnight.

The said child was not far from the bed, next to the embers found in the hearth to ward off the cold of Spring's eve. Laid out on the expensive rug like a house animal, the maturing boy was surrounded by at least a dozen books of varying subjects. An open book of metallurgy was in front of his head, along with the tome _Sieges and City Battles from the Creation of Daein to Crimea_ by the famed historian Telion Magar. The boy snored quietly, his head with short brown hair rising and falling with the breaths.

It wouldn't take much to wake him up. But the lad had missed breakfast and a few important anouncements. And Geoffrey saw it as a waste to pour this fine ale over the boy's head. So he decided a swift boot to the shin was the better route.  
The response was instantaneous with the child rolling over with screwed eyes that slowly opened. Hazelnut irises looked into Geoffrey's own, and for a moment Geoffrey thought he saw the older brother to his ward looking back at him. The passion of drawing his blade to thrust down into the heart of that scum flashed across his being, but Goeffrey reminded himself that it was not Ludveck who rose with a mumbled good morning. It was Marek, no threat here.

"You were late for breakfast. Again." Geoffrey stated in a matter of fact tone as Marek smoothed the wrinkles out of his robes. "Still, I saved some of the meal for you. Half a loaf of oat bread, some smoked northern salmon, a rasher of bacon, two duck eggs, blueberry preserves mixed with honey, and a pitcher of smoked ale." He laid the heavy plate on a small table that would fit two adults, or one adult and two other children easily enough which was often how Marek would use the table.

"Thank you, my lord. Please, sit and enjoy some of it with me." Marek was, to his credit, a rather polite boy who treated everyone he met with respect and humility. Perhaps it was part of his normal demeanor, though Geoffrey thought it more of everyone reminding Marek that he was the brother of a confessed traitor, and thus less than nothing in their eyes. So perhaps the lad tried to change their minds with hospitality and kindness. If that was the case, then there was little success achieved.

Geoffrey sat down on the other chair and tore the oat loaf into two equal halves. Taking one for himself, he dipped the bread into the yolk of the duck egg before he took a bite out of it. The young lordling, on the other hand, seemed almost famished and began to devour his food without care for proper decorum given the informal setting for the meal.

Every day, Geoffrey wondered why he took up the responsibility to sire this young man and his brothers. His older brother, Ludveck, was a traitor and a rapist. Why Elincia chose to spare the monster rather than taking his head from his shoulders, a responsibility Geoffrey would have enjoyed to carry out, was a mystery even for him. Did the Queen not know of the wounds his beloved sister carried with her, both visible and those that cannot be seen? Did she realize what he did to her, the true horrors? That she was perhaps forced to care for a living reminder of her dishonor?

Geoffrey mentally shook the thought away. Paris was his nephew, and even if he did share blood with that… craven he had just as much of his sister's blood flowing through his veins. He needed to be the loving uncle to take care for him. Just as he needed to make sure that Marek did not turn into his older brother, if anything to become more like Sicarius the Tall, the father of his ward.

"Are you making process with the lessons given by Bastian?" Geoffrey asked with the hope that conversation would clear these thoughts from his head.

Marek nodded as he shoveled the last of his salmon and duck egg into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed before he answered. "Very well. He is teaching me the manner of statesman ship for the various nations in the contin. Or rather how they were since the upheaval in Begnion three years ago and reform is hard to predict. The only down side is that it does get a little hard to keep him on a single subject for more than three minutes. He often bursts into jester like theatrics when explaining things or starts playing solitaire with long pauses in conversation as he focuses on the game."

"Goddess, he still does that? It was a pain during the Mad King's War when he would just pull out some tiles during a tactics meeting and would just play while we were discussing the next battle." Geoffrey stated with some incredulous tone to his voice.

"Yes, he does. Though if there is one part that irks me to no end. When ever he talks about that part of Crimean history," the empaths placed on the word 'that' was enough to realize what he was speaking of, "he goes off the deep end. Exaggerating what exactly my brother did, the motives, responsibility, and even the attitude. It is almost insulting to me, and I despise my brother just as much as you do."

It was true. Ludveck's insurgency has almost always been over exaggerated, a feat even Geoffrey was surprised with that such a thing could be done. Rather than focus on his misguided patriotism to the nation of Crimea and perhaps the idea that he wanted the power for himself, many histories instead portrayed Ludveck as a debauched craven who either wanted the world to burn or to rule it all for himself. Greed and a thirst to blood were invented based on the hearsay of those supposedly from his household, and anyone who disagreed with this portrayal of history… well, slander was a tame word for the response.

Having bled and almost died during both of the major engagements of the rebellion, Geoffrey took it upon himself to hammer out those misplaced facts into the new recruits. Ludveck was a traitor and a man who sexually assaulted his sister, but he was the embodiment of misplaced pride. No one was immune to that and they didn't need an extraordinary villain to explain that. "Apologies. I will make sure to have a conversation with Bastian about that when I have a chance to be alone in a secluded place where my yelling will not be noted. Unfortunately, that will not be able to be soon. If you attended breakfast today, you would learn of a Daien royal visit is occurring soon."

"Royal visit?" Marek asked as he placed a little preserves on his smoked bacon followed by the ale to wash the meal down. "I thought Queen Elincia wanted to cut back on unnecessary expenses in response to last month's raids. If Her Majesty Queen Micaiah visits, I have no doubt she will bring quite the entourage. They will need to be fed, housed, and pampered. I doubt the mead makers would offer up their botched batches and butchers will give even the lowest cuts of meat freely if the Queen wanted it."

"This isn't a royal visit in the traditional sense," Geoffrey responded as he unhooked a pewter mug from his belt and poured himself some of the ale. "Yes, the expected guests are… larger than I expected though they are bringing some of their gold dragons to subsidize the expenses." Geoffrey used the official term for Daein coins, a currency worth roughly the same as Crimea's Floral that only the most stringent banker would know the difference between the values. "There will be no parade to welcome them, nor a tourney with handsome rewards. However, there will be feasts and Elincia has been insistent that there be some games to entertain the masses as well as our new guests."

He handed Marek a rolled up piece of paper containing more in-depth information about the visit. "Arriving in three days… sixty members along with respected guards, scribes, and assorted support personnel for almost three hundred... a football match between the Royal Knights and the Melior deme, goddess that is hooliganism waiting to happen… quarter is to be in the castle and inns not far from the palace… expected stay is one week." He folded the paper back up and handed it back to Geoffrey, who took a drink of the ale with a nod of thanks. "I pity the poor sod who is in charge of this."

Geoffrey chuckled. "Then I hope you enjoy self-pity, because that sod is you."

"I beg your pardon." Marek said in a simple flat tone, the type to be heard if someone had just said winter was warmer then summer.

"I asked the queen to give you the responsibility of overseeing the stay of these dignitaries. If/when you are in charge of Felirae as your own keep, this is something that will be done quite often. Perhaps not having a foreign ruler visit, but other members of the nobility and clergy. Many of the servants will take care of the making sure that the items you request will be there. Chefs and others will prepare the meals, servants will make sure the beds are ready, and the Knights will be looking forward to a game. You, however, have to make sure that they know what is to be done and that the arrangements are in place." Geoffrey explained as he took a long drink from his mug.

"Sometimes I think you give me the shite jobs no one really wants and attach some lesson to make it seem that you are teaching me something." Marek responded as he looked down into his glass aimlessly before throwing his head back to finish off the last of it.

"Well, if you bollocks it up, you can't be a bigger disappointment to many then you already are."

"Your confidence in me is overwhelming, Lord Commander." Marek responded to Geoffrey's deadpan humor with an eye roll. Before he could speak another word, his door opened and a striking woman came in. Long indigo hair fell freely and a light blue tunic with straps of leather and chainmail offered some protection though it was clear that she intended to fight with her agility rather than strength alone. A fresh silver pin depicting a rose was upon her left breast, showing that her knighthood was a new commission. Though who she was, and the recent trophy she brought back so Tibarn could add it to the Walk, Marek was one who considered such appointment well overdue. He rose from his chair and bowed his head in respect while also offering said chair to his new guest. "My Lady."

Mia gave the young lordling a warm, white smile and took the seat offered. Marek then quickly walked over to a side table where other mugs stood. He grabbed one and brought it over to Mia and poured the last of the smoked ale into it for her to enjoy. "Such manners from a fine young man. You must have been teaching him well, Commander."

Geoffrey chuckled and wiped his face off with a napkin. "How rude of me. Marek, I believe you already know this young lady. Mia Twinmoons will be your new fencing instructor and introduction to household guard. She is a Royal Knight first and foremost, but such a time like this offers the perfect opportunity to know what it is like to have the true wet run of lordship."

Geoffrey rose from his seat and took the plates along with the empty pitcher of beer as he headed for the door. "Come visit me later today and I will have a list of all the things required for the visit and who to contact for them. I hope you step up to challenge, for your sake as well as others."

Geoffrey closed the door behind him, Marek listened as the footsteps trailed off into the distance. "I think he actually is starting to enjoy your company." Mia stated and Marek couldn't help but laugh. He walked over to the pile of books he fell asleep next to and picked up a few ones along with the inkwell as well as some pieces of parchment already drawn upon.

"Yeah, it is the better mood I have seen him in for some time." Marek stated as he sat down in the chair that Geoffrey left, placing the various books open to the book marked pages and within moments he began to scratch down several notes. "Who sent you though?" He asked Mia while still looking down on his notes. "Geoffrey, Elincia, Bastian? Who sent you to be their little bird in my daily affairs?"

"I was told by Geoffrey to be your teacher and advisor. Are you always this paranoid or just rude?" Mia asked with an annoyed tone.

"Forgive me then, madam. When half the kingdom sees you less than a branded bastard born of incest and the other half wants you out of the way, it is a little hard to take people at their face value. Nor does such a legend as yourself find themselves in a glorified babysitting position lend credence to the idea that someone is coming on their own free will with the best of intentions." Marek stated matter of factly as he let his mind wander. It was a phrase he had repeated many times over since he found himself a ward of the Delbrey house.

While he didn't remember much about the aftermath of his brother's rebellion, he had expected to be exiled along with his brother or stripped immediately of all lands and all titles to wander as a beggar. So when Geoffrey came and visited them in their small room that was almost a cell with the message that he would raise them, he expected it to be a path paved with shattered glass. He wasn't far off, always being looked down upon by many with insults and spit flying at him from those who were not of the Royal Family, Delbrey, or quite a few Northern nobility. Though the lessons they were taught were ones that would be applied to daily life as well as matters of lordship for the unified twin empires.

Now, three years later and with manhood within sight, Marek knew that the unified Crimea told to him constantly was a half-truth and his ascension based on his own works was as fictitious as Bastian's tale of the rebellion. The independent, pragmatic North hated pious and federation minded South, the West called the East xenophobic while the former yelled branded breeder. The Bird Tribes were another mess all together, their extended lifespans rolling eyes at the quarrels of what they perceived as minor details. And at the center of this storm was him and his brothers hoping to earn their ancestral lands back and assume the place they held prior to three years ago.

A royal visit from Daein, a nation who a… colorful history in the past decade had meant that there would be a great gathering of the lords and ladies from the united Crimean and Bird Tribe Empire. Enough so that the vote for his ascension would be a certainty. Some would point to him and say he is nothing more than his brother while others say he carries more of his father than Ludveck ever did.

Father and brother? Were these to be his measuring stones in life? Be more like the dead or the exile? Could he not be his own individual? Was the fact who had the same blood in his veins matter more than his own actions?

His thoughts were interrupted when Mia took his empty mug, uncorked a wineskin that was around her waist and poured a little into his glass. "You seem to be in sour thoughts. They go away when you have a little wine in the belly." Marek took the glass and drank some of the harsh but sweet liquid. He looked back down to the measurements, sketches, and instructions he had written.

A party had to be thrown, but there would still be plenty of time to himself. Time well spent with the smiths who valued skill rather than name. Time to spend with sweat, fire, and honest labor that betrayed no one because of their name. It would be the place he would create the emblem for his new rule.

An emblem, as well as a weapon.


	2. Chapter 2

A visit to the royal kitchen would normally have been a quiet affair. It was a place that may have been busy, but the sounds would have been muted. Maybe the occasional sound of a meat cleaver parting the ribs from the remains of a deer would have been heard every once in a while but now, with the preparations for the royal visit of three hundred individuals along with the other nobles in Crimea, it was almost like a well-drilled choir.

Cleavers rose and fell in almost perfect rhythm with each other. Half a dozen animals in the main preparation room alone laid about in various states of preparedness. A boar marbled with fat was skinned and gutted, but not a portion was removed. On another table laid half a side of beef, with three butchers covered in blood beginning to carve the animal. Finally, closest Marek were maybe one hundred pounds of pork roasts being showered in spices, salt, and dried flowers to be rubbed into the flesh. Since it was still late spring, the basement part of the kitchen was still very cool and the meat could age without a chance of rot within the next two days.

The bakers were also alive and bustling, the light smoke of apple and yew bundles of logs burning to cook the dozens of loaves needed for each day of feasting and meals. Black bread made with stale beer, snow white bread with a golden crust, and even holiday bread with a center full of salt to welcomd the royal family in a symbol of hospitality was being prepared by skilled hands.

One of the head chefs in charge of the endeavor was a Royal Knight, much to Marek's surprise as he made some marks on the parchment noting what was being prepared. "It is still too early for much of the fruit to make tarts beyond blueberries, sour cherries and apricots. I am afraid Her Majesty will not be getting the peach cobbler she requested. The fruit is not in season yet."

Marek nodded and tried to remember what else Elincia liked for a desert that was both local and sweet. "Well, I recall that she enjoys spiced squash bread with pitted cherries in them. Make that instead and serve it with sweetened cream cheese spread. Make a few loaves of it as well on the off chance others would wish to partake in it."

Oscar nodded and scratched the side of his head with a hand still liberally covered in spices and dried animal blood. "Of course, thank you for the suggestion. This is, truth be told, my first royal visit. Such a strange world though. Three years ago, who would have thought that we would sit down politely with the Daeins and the Birds around a feasting table without any wars to fight?"

Marek chuckled as he sipped some spring water. "You were near to the action then I ever was, so your opinion matters more than mine when it comes to the audacity of it. You are a credit to the knighthood, Oscar. I have to check the supplies of alcohol and spirits. Goddess be good with your ovens."

Oscar nodded in response and with the conversation over, he quickly returned to sifting the flour with barely a second wasted on rest. Aye, a credit to his position.

Marek's own thoughts returned to the numbers needed for this visit. Even without a parade and jousting tourney, the logistics of hospitality was astounding. Eight hundred loaves of bread, the meat of seven large animals, and about twenty wheels of cheddar cheese were required each day for meals and snacking. Then seventeen kegs of ales, ten kegs of pilsners, and seven caskets of wine were expected to be needed on meals in the castle alone. He shuddered to think how much the taverns and inns would see for the households spending their Dragons and Roses on fine alcohol.

He was so lost in thought, however, he didn't see the uneven carpet right in front of him. He mistepped and began to stumble forward. Though someone with quick instincts shot out their arm and gripped his shoulder to pull him back to his feet. He did drop his quill and piece of paper though, and as soon as he regained his center of balance he stooped down to pick up the materials. He was about to thank the person who kept him from having his face connect with the ground when he got a good look at who it was.

She was tall, maybe a head over he was. Flowing aqua blue hair fell over her shoulders down to her waist. She wore pure white and thigh high boots that complimented her figure extraordinarily. The sword at her side, Ratione, was a sword forged from the same steel as Amitil that Elinia carried with her and it signified a bond between the monarch and her first among equals. It was also a woman Marek treaded carefully around, given her… connection with his brother. "My dear lady Lucia." He remained on his knees with his head bowed in respect for the right hand of the queen.

Lucia, to be expected by now, was not having any of this posturizing and with unknown strength, hefted the young man to his feet and quickly dusted off the simple white and gold garments. "Please, stop patronizing me. Any more and my head may not be able to fit through any doors." She let loose a merry laugh as Marek inadvertently felt his cheeks get a little warmer. He shook his head and met her gaze with a short nod.

"As you wish, milady. I must say you look very healthy today, it seems the fever has passed through you. The Goddesses are good." Marek responded with a polite tone, and Lucia seemed to be appreciative and gave a merry laugh.

"Indeed. Part of being a mother, illnesses hammer away at your immune system after they had their fun with your child. Still, it is a good enough reason to be waited upon in your bed with pots of mint tea and loaves of warm bread drizzled in honey at your beck and call."

Marek chuckled at the thought. "Indeed, indeed. Well, if you care to walk and talk I can entertain and get this mountain of to-do items your brother thrusted upon me." The azure haired maiden nodded and followed the young lordling down the halls. All around them, preparations were being made. Large candles were being replaced, servants were scrubbing away at the floors to see their reflections in the glassy gleam of cleanliness. Even the bird laguz were out and about, cleaning the high rafters and ceilings while lighting incense to give a spicy undertone familiar to their homelands.

"Preparing for the final parts of the visit?" Lucia asked as she walked in sync with Marek, hands held gently behind her back.

"Aye, going to check the wine cellars now to make sure the proper vintages have been marked for use and where they would be going to. Also I have to oversee the arrival of room candles to be placed in the chambers. Plenty for Michiah's and Sothe's room, I am told they read and work all night." Marek stated as he gave approving nods to the assuredly overworked housekeepers.

"Perhaps, but I remember them drinking and… procreating through the nights I was close to them. Those closest to their tent had little sleep." Lucia responded off handedly as she stopped to smell a lilac bush.

"How much could they drink? A stiff wind looks like it could get the better of both of them." Marek stated as Lucia continued to walk to the older parts of the castle. "I have a casket of Sweetlake '15 red for their quarters alone."

"Well, add enough nightshade essence to make sure that they go to sleep and that will be the _only_ casket they drain. Otherwise, perhaps bring another one or two to their chambers." Lucia stated. Marek internally shuddered. Thirty gallons of aged wine would be gone practically in three days, provided Lucia wasn't over exaggerating. "They may have matured and grown more lax after those chaotic days of a few against the world, otherwise we may need to plant more vineyards to make up for the loss."

"Regardless, candles for the chamber." Marek stated. He stopped when a served held two pouches filled with different types of tobac which would be offered after the first night's dinner. He picked up a small clump from the first batch and smelled it. Definitely an aromatic local blend that had a smell that was earthy with a hint of cherry to it. The other one was far darker, the smell of rum and vanilla assailed his nose. It was the manner in how the traders would preserve the leaves from the long trip to and fro the Phoeonicis islands. "We will go with the trader blend for the first night and then the local one for the next evening, it will complement the meals." The servant bowed his head and hurried off to his next task.

Lucia nodded with a surprised look in her eyes. "Only a day old in the position and you are already speaking like a seasoned host."

"Hey, I didn't always nod off during those dull lessons Queen Elincia gave about how to be a good steward of your house. I learned half of that working logistics with Geoffrey making sure that the necessities and few luxuries to keep a corps of knights warm, fed and happy." Marek responded and Lucia laughed again. For all of her strengths as a monarch and good friend, Elincia was quite the terrible teacher when it came to being proper noble.

It had been a while since she spoke to someone outside her usual cast of conversationalists. Most would have thought that Marek and by extension his brothers would be repulsive to her. At least that would be discussed over tea and other stronger drinks with other belles and peers of the realm. _'Why associate with those heathens? You let them play with your son for Ashera's sake!', 'Did you forget what almost happened to you?', 'Isn't that traitor the creator of your bastard?'_. That last comment was often met with four knuckles to the nose. She knew what happened to her, and were the choice open to her, she would do them all again. As for why she spent time with them and even let the children play with her Paris, there was no risk of anything beyond a small injury that could be fixed with a strip of cloth and a kiss. Marek was not like his brother. That alone was both a good and bad thing.

Whereas Ludveck had always been a bit hot-blooded preferring action and dealing with consequences later, Marek was much more taciturn and forward thinking. Ludveck shouted with a fiery passion, Marek listened calmly before speaking his point in a concise manner. But yet there were some elements of Ludveck she would like to see in him…

Her thoughts ended when she saw that they were at a simple door make of oak with two heavily armored guards. Normally there would have guards to accompany them, especially back with the more antiquated caskets, but upon seeing Lucia, the guards simply offered them a large candle holders and two small glass goblets. Lucia took the candle while Marek acquired the tapping device and two small tasting glasses to make sure they acquired the proper batches. One of them opened the door while the other took a small twig

The wine cellar was dark, cool, and dry. It was made of thick brick that were always checked every day to make sure that no animals found their way into this area. Without exaggeration or hyperbole, it was the most protected area of the castle, barring the royal living quarters and throne room. Vintages almost six hundred years old, as old as the foundation of the Begnion Empire were found here and some from brewed in the ages long passed that now even the ink has faded into dust. It was even rumored that there were caskets of wine from beyond the Black Wall mountain range, though Elincia always laughed that idea off.

With only a large candle to light their way, the two slowly stepped down the wooden stairs and were soon greeted by the coolness of the cellar. Wine barrels filled their vision as new oak shined compared to the grayed and aged wood further in the back. Though they needed not to go too far into the cellar, right off to the left of them was a simple rack holding dozens of barrels, about ten long by three high. Marek placed the glasses aside and got close to the candle to check his notes as they walked up and down the rows, making sure each of the barrels were here.

The stewards were diligent: five barrels of Cynthian Red, seven of Windfell White, twelve of Delbray Red, and six other more exotic blends of wine including the Sweetlake whose vineyards were destroyed in a prairie fire, for the high tables during the feasts or to be given as a token of good fortune on the return trip for the Daein royalty. "Everything is in order. The Queen runs a tight ship when it comes to her wine."

Lucia nodded with an approving smile. "Elincia does indeed love her grown up grape juice. I remember more than one night where she would use this to unwind and spend an evening talking about court gossips when times really got to her. I can only imagine how she must have felt when I was kidnapped by…" she stopped speaking, chastising herself for not remembering who she was with.

Marek, to his credit, didn't get crossed or yell at her for bringing up a wound that was salted almost every day. He merely sighed, little emotion upon his face as he found a barrel of Cynthian Red '35. He took the tapping tool and with a wooden mallet he found not far from the cask, he drove the spout in. He picked up the two glasses and turned the tapper to the open position. Out came the light blood colored drink with a small ring of bubbles around the corners of the glass. He waited until the first was filled just beneath the lip of the glass before he moved onto the second one, allowing only a small drop of wine to fall on the floor in the transition.

Once his glass was filled, he closed the valve and handed the first, fuller glass to Lucia who took it with an appreciative nod. "My apologies, I didn't mean to speak-" Marek asked for silence with a hard glare, and took a drink from the rich fortified wine. It was sweet, though the burn of the alcohol overwhelmed his taste and other senses. He felt the rich wine warm his veins as it traveled through his body once the stark taste of alcohol had left. Lucia, while not an avid wine drinker with a preference to something far harder, took a drink and slowly began to swirl the contents of her glass. Silence drug out between the two for quite a while as the candle light flickered gently as it cast an orange glow over the faces and hands of the two nobles.

Finally, Marek spoke after another long sip. "I meant no rudeness. I have heard so many apologies for bringing up that event that it seems like lip service than an honest apology regardless of the intentions of the speaker." He looked down into the how half full glass and swirled it around some more.

"I understand." Lucia responded, though she soon followed it up with another question. "You are aware that this meeting brings not only diplomats and royalty, but at least three quarters of the noble houses from the Tribes as well as the mainland?"

"Aye."

"You do know that is enough for a quorum vote? Elincia has made plans to advance it with the Daein's as silent guests."

Marek snarled for a moment, though it was at the thought of the other lords rather than Elincia. "It would surprise me if she didn't. To get all of the other highborns to this capital, especially from the south, is a hard effort. I imagine there will be plenty of verbal fighting between the two sides, and I will be caught at the center of it." He threw back his head and downed the last of the fortified wine, shaking his head when it became numb for a moment. "Come, I'll escort you out."

He began off in one direction, but Lucia stopped him with with a single sentence. "He will be there." A chill ran up Marek's spine, colder than any ice and sharper than steel. He almost dropped the candle but settled for tightening his fist into a ball so hard the knuckles popped all at once as the glass held in it began to crack. He closed the fist and shattered the glass, sending the jagged material deep into his skin. "He has become a landed lord, ruling a small shire down in the south east."

"Damn him." Marek swore aloud. The act would have normally caught Lucia by surprise but when it was concerning this individual… it was tame to what she expected. She did walk over and took up Marek's blooded fist. Flicking out the pieces of glass she could find, Lucia then wrapped the hand in one of her cloth belts that was more for show than practicality. "After all I said and accused him of with your testimony… he still managed to find a way to get into power?"

"As much as it surprises me, he has. Lord Erebus of Hillgarden rides with the other lords of the south to vote." Lucia tied off the bandage and gave Marek a reassuring pat. "I know what he did as much as you. But we shouldn't borrow trouble for something that has not happened yet. Goddesses are good, then he gets lost on his way here. If not… well it would not be the first time a man like him has sat on a vote nor will it be the last."

"Still." Marek stated flatly, rubbing the stained cloth that covered his injured hand.

"Still." Lucia responded before taking the candle and her glass up. "Better get that injury washed and healed. I will make sure your brothers are cleaned and ready for supper."

"Thank you, you are too kind Lucia." Marek responded and headed for the stairs. He would see the healer, Mist if he recalled correctly, and have his injury looked at. But he had other work to do as well.

He needed to hit something with a hammer to get the memories out of his head. Luckily, he knew just where to go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Apologies** **for the long hiatus for this chapter. Hopfully it would have been worth the wait.**

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The dining hall was filed with the heavy hazy smoke of fresh baked bread and roasted meats. Dinner in the castle was always an event that brought the day, no matter how terrible or crazy it was, to a peaceful as well as delicious end. Marek himself threw on a new set of his fine casual clothes, while his two brothers wore clean tunics and trousers as they sat with the other children of the castle at a special table close to the parents if they acted up.

Marek was seated at the front table, overlooking the others on a stone platform. Everyone in the castle tried to make sure to come for a feast of a dinner, and while there was no strict seat rules on the floor tables, many sat with their familiar groups. Maids dined with the stewards, librarians with accountants, smiths with carpenters, and the knights ate usually amongst their own detachments rather than mixing with other companies to reduce the bragging behavior of comparing victory laurels.

At the head table sat guests as well as the rulers of the castle. Elincia and Tibarn sat in the center, Elincia devouring a white peach Tibarn surprised her with upon his return from the southern territories of Crimea. It was a little under ripe, but she smiled like a child on the morning of Winter's Eve when her loving husband placed it in her hands. The next ring around them was Lucia and Bastian, two of her most trusted ministers. The separation kept Bastian's tongue silence from making melodramatic love confessions which made the meal a little harder to keep down. _A man writes three sonnets to a woman, he loves her. He writes three hundred to her and he loves sonnets_. Marek recited Tibarn's reasoning in his head.

Then came the two commanders, and their separation was needed. Geoffrey and Renning were rivals in almost every sense of the word, and if the two were in close proximity… volumes were raised and tempers flared. Politics, tactics, even to how the weather of the day was dry tinder they ignited to use against one another. Until they were separated to their current seating, more than once the king and queen ordered one to sit with the children until he simmered down. Marek quietly wished he had been able to see his teacher or the Supreme Grand Master of the Royal Knights sit on a little wooden stool carved for children while everyone else tried to suppress their laughter. Alas, he had yet to see such a thing.

Finally, at the ends of the table were notable guests. Right now that was only Marek, but in a few days' time he imagined of the many who would fill up the now moderately empty benches. It still boggled his mind on how many would actually be coming to talk business and enjoy royal hospitality. He would still have his front seat, though others of greater heritage would be shooting daggers all the while.

His thoughts were interrupted when the kitchen swept in with heaping trays of food. Roasted boar and stag slices spilled forth their delicious juices into mashed potatoes that were themselves overflowing with melted salted cream. Candied beets and stir-fried radishes along with leaf lettuce salads balanced the meal, while for desert were blueberries in sweetened milk garnished with honey. For the children there were simple but delicious honeycombs if they cleaned their entire plate.

The lowest tables were served first, many of whom had pressing matters to attend to afterward. They ate the same food and drank the same drinks as others did. Elincia tried to make sure the unspoken gap of luxury between herself and the castle's retainers was minimized, and once the servants had begun their feast the kitchen brought out similar meals for the rulers. Fresh vegetables replaced the preserved ones and finer wines were offered, but the meal itself was the same.

A server laid a hunk of boar and half a rack of ribs covered in a smoky pepper sauce with sides of beets that were swimming in butter and purple leaves of lettuce surrounded the entire plate. Between him and Geoffrey, who preferred the gamey taste of stag, sat a warm loaf of artisanal bread thick with crust with butter and honey. She also placed a trencher filled with brown gravy and roasted pearl onions next to the bread as well. The table waited until Elincia and Tibarn, whom Elincia had just _finally_ convinced to use utensils, had taken their first bite before they themselves began to address their food.

Marek scooped up his fork and knife, having not eaten since he had a small bowl of bean and bacon soup while he toured the kitchen to make sure the preparations were under way for the state visit. Another server came by drinks for the head table, and she placed a mug of sweet mead in front of him. She went down the line placing each drink that complimented the meals. Geoffrey had an earthy stout, while Bastian and Elincia took their blood red wines. Tibarn preferred a crisp white wine infused with the spices of his homeland to go along with his honeyed chicken stuffed with preserved fruits

The room soon filled with idle chatter that made conversation to anyone save your eating neighbor impossible without sounding like a rude cad. Thankfully, Geoffrey was easy to have a light conversation with once some beer and food was in his stomach but it would be later in the meal before the two could carry a deep conversation. So Marek began to gnaw on a meaty boar rib, his mind wandered and he looked over to his two younger brothers who ate their meals joyfully and perhaps a little bit too loud along with the other children of the castle.

Thankfully his brothers were young enough to not understand what happened during the past six years in their entirety. Sometimes the naivety would surface when he was doing work and they would ask where big brother Ludveck was. Every time he considered telling the truth, but that innocence in their eyes was too fragile. He would lie like a rug, of course, spinning a fantastic tale about where their brother was. One day it was journeying beyond the mystic mountains and another it was sailing over the bounds of the map. He had told so many stories that he often confused himself in trying to figure out the one he told last time.

They were still young enough not to understand the blatant dishonesty, something others in the castle played along with. Innocence was a rare and dangerous commodity, even in times of peace that was becoming known as the Pax Crimea.

Pax Crimea: The Crimean Peace or the Peace of Crimea depending on which scholar you asked for a translation. It was being touted as an unheralded age of peace from the crucible of warfare, with the youngest of nations ushering the continent into the new era. The Unification of the Birds and their leader's politically charged turned romantic marriage to Elincia showed that the bigotries of the past were that, the past. A golden age of magic, science, the arts, and economic prosperity, with everyone benefiting from it.

While it was true that it was by far better for many than the past ten years had brought, it was not entirely true. Being a noble, especially one who had to work for even the idea of respect from the majority of the peers of the realm, Marek could see how the stage was held together. Bigotry against the laguz by the beorcs and vice versa was on the decline, but old habits would die hard, especially in the Daein minded east. The wealthy saw their reserves increased tenfold in three years while the lesser individuals of the kingdom were not as fortunate. Gained knowledge in the natural and eldritch world was jealously guarded by cabals of wizards and apothecaries. Even the marriage of two rulers was far from perfect, though it had been very passionate in all aspects. From the fights to the makeups, Elincia and Tibarn had an inferno of emotions for each other that could be set aside when they were in the presence of others. When they were alone, it was often heated one way or another.

Still, Marek thought as he drank from his flagon once more, to the smallfolk it did seem like it was the best of times any could remember. From the darkest moments of his brother's coup to an event not even a drunk Malakov would share with Marek, it must seem like the darkness before the radiant dawn. Hope and innocence, the two most dangerous and valuable emotions in any time he thought with a small chuckle rumbling in his throat.

"Where is Mist?" Geoffrey asked and it drew Marek out of his thoughts. He looked over to the commander who drug a quartered onion out of the gravy and bit into it with a crunch. "She seems to be absent today, and with stag being served I thought she would run down to get here to eat her fill."

"I visited her to see to my hand I cut during an accident," Marek said as he gestured to the pink lines of new skin on his hand where glass wounds had once been, "apparently little Elena came down with a fever. She doesn't want to risk an infection to spread right before such an event."

"I'll be sure to take some up to her then for her supper. I caught the illness recently so I should be immune to spreading it. It also looks like you visited another place besides the hospital." Geoffrey gestured to the smidges of black around Marek's face, places he missed when he washed up for the dinner. He needed to place a mirror above that water basin. "Coal soot from the looks of it. Visited the blacksmith?"

"Aye, I visited Jeon just before supper." Marek stated while Geoffrey looked over to the swordsmith. Jeon was a monster of any hawk laguz in existence. Thick cords of muscle bulged from his arms speckled with burn tissue and a leather apron with a simple pair of trousers were the clothing he wore in the forge or outside regardless of the weather. Covered from head to toe in grime from his work, he tore into his meal with famish abandoned. "I gave him some plans I had drawn up for an heirloom sword I could assist in forging."

Geoffrey nodded in approval. Jeon was one of the best smiths he had ever seen, and if anyone could create a lethal piece of artwork such as a house weapon, he could. "It will be good for you to do some honest labor and create something you will use for your days as well as that of your future generations." Marek gave a side smirk and the two resumed their eating. "Perchance, may I inquire what type of sword you would have him forged?"

Marek did indeed have the designs on hand, but it was considered in poor manners to bring work to the dinner table. Casual discussion would be accepted, t one should focus on eat and drink entirely when they were seated at the meal tables. "A basket hilted long sword forged from crucible castle steel."

Geoffrey gave his nod of approval. "Quite the weapon, one that will last through the ages. Simple, yet unique. I imagine etchings and runes will be carved into the hilt and blade to give it potency in magic?"

"You imagine correctly. Jeon said he would focus all of his waking hours to preparing the weapon. With any luck, it will be ready during the visit." Marek responded, and he noticed his mentor flinch when he heard mention of the royal visit tomorrow. "You have misgivings about the event?"

"Not my place to say, so you are not hearing this from me." More secrets. "I do not think this will be the traditional visit fit for the royalty." Geoffrey explained as he forked some leafy greens into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed the vegetables before speaking again. "More business than pleasure. The Flayed Ones have disappeared for the moment with no sighting, confirmed or fraudulent, logged in three weeks. Still, there have been trouble in the other nations, and seeing as we fought them first and perhaps suffered the brunt of their brutality, Daein has wished to talk of an alliance to combat them should they return once again."

Marek nodded slowly as he dipped a torn hunk of bread into the beef and onion gravy. The Flayed Ones, or the Calligans as he had heard Geoffrey refer to them as on multiple occasions, left as quickly as they had appeared. For five days there was nothing but bad news across the fringes of the kingdom. Reports of wanton destruction and slaughter were abound. Volus, a moderately sized loyal mining town, was slaughtered almost to a man along with half of Geoffrey's 2nd Company in two days' time. Dunkirk would have met a similar fate were it not for Mia and a small group of unknowns disappearing before recognition could be given to them for saving thirty thousand lives.

Yet when the slaughter was at its greatest, it stopped. Some said that when Mia took the head of the Huntress, which was now casted in silver and sitting on a spike in the tradition of Pheonicis for the worst enemies of the state, the forces crumpled. Others stated that the monsters had their fill of death and retreated to enjoy the spoils. Marek and Geoffrey held a less popular, but more realistic idea. They were testing the strengths and weaknesses of nations, and once they have gathered their strength, they would be back.

Lucia, who sat next to her brother, waved her hand aside as if she was dispelling the thought and spoke loud enough for Marek to hear. "Regardless of the reason they come, it is not to be discounted. They will be here and we should treat them with the respect due to their positions. We should focus on the present circumstance rather than speculating what may or may not happen. That topic should be discussed at one point, though the dinner table is especially not the place. The meal is almost over, and the peace from the days event with it. Try to savor it."

As if to compound her words the servers then brought out panforte with a spiced honey drizzle, one of Marek's favorite deserts, with bottles of sweet wine. Dinner was reaching its end, and business could be discussed later. He spoke to Geoffrey then about simpler subjects that were lighter such as the football demes they supported and if they had seen the new play about a child choosing between bloodlines or fond memories. After dinner was over, Marek would have to attend strategy lessons by the famed tactician Soren on the lessons of counter sieges followed by time in the archives to familiarize himself with the customs of Daein prior to the visit that would come in the morning.

Another busy night awaited him, he thought to himself as he finished the last of his dinner. Though it would be nothing compared to what was ahead of him for the next few days.

* * *

Geoffrey walked down the darkened halls of the castle with a large tray of food in his hands for perhaps the most overworked and underappreciated individual in the castle. He carried a platter of herb crusted stag, a loaf of rustic white bread followed by a salad of purple fennel, leeks, and green beans, with a small slice of the panforte along large glass of crimson wine. In truth he may have felt like a steward when he was sequestered in the castle for extended periods, but there was plenty of free time to master other aspects of chivalry besides combat.

He reached the doors to the medical wing of the castle and gave a gentle rap on the tall golden brown oak doors. He heard the sound of a small fire crackling away on the inside, and it was soon followed by the gentle footsteps on the marbled floor he could easily identify given the amount of times he had been in to see Mist's care.

The young healer opened the door and gave a warm smile that betrayed the fatigued body of a mother who had been taking care of a sick child. "Knight Commander… what an unexpected surprise." She then looked down to the platter of food, a shocked smile growing on her face.

"Please, it is the least I can do for all that you have done." Geoffrey stated as he walked into the illuminated room. As opposed to many of the times he had visited, the hospital was a warm with a crackling fire. The usual cold was dispelled and it felt like a welcomed place to be. Next to the fire, he saw a small cradle where the infant Elena tried to sleep, the silence broken by the occasional cough. He placed his hand on her head and felt that the child was suffering from a cold, though the worst seemed to have passed.

As he placed the food down on the table next to the cradle and Mist spoke once again with a quiet voice. "Thank you so much. I don't know what I did to deserve this generosity." Geoffrey unintentionally winced as he heard her speak. Mist was always downplaying what she did for him, for everyone, and had so much modesty in her he wondered if she even knew what it was like to be selfish.

He turned around and placed one of his hands on her shoulder. "Mist, you have saved my life and others more times than there are stars in the evening sky. Brining you dinner when you are doing your diligence as a mother is the least I can do for you. Please, stop talking down to yourself about how you don't deserve this, or that is too good for me. You are a valuable individual who is not taken for granted every time my men or I are in need of your care." He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze to reinforce the point, and she nodded mutely.

Geoffrey gave a simple smile and departed without saying another word. He meant everything he said to her, but could not help but feel something off about what he said. Something that made his chest just a little tighter.

* * *

Elincia reclined one her soft mattress as rain slowly pattered on the windows outside. Even though summer was around the corner, the melancholic weather of Crimea often brought the cold from the artic northern sea. Tibarn stood in front of the fire place, kindling a fire with only a loose fitting robe adorning his frame. A few gentle breaths of air got the kindling roaring, and he planted a few thicker logs onto the fire. Once the orange flames began to lick the dry yew wood, he returned to the bed, casting his robe unto Elincia's yellow and orange nightgown on the floor at the foot of the bed as he climbed under the goose feathered blankets. He felt the comforting silk envelop him as he reached out to hold his wife.

She responded eagerly and laid her head on his chest as his fingers ran through her tangled locks. "I do not like this." He muttered with a half quiet tone. Elincia sighed, her husband had never been comfortable with the idea of the visit from the start.

"It is only proper that we discuss these matters with Micaiah and Sothe. We are not an island, there is no shame in asking for help. Far better we seek help now than when the hounds of hell are at our door again." She responded with an equal tone. "I understand your misgivings with the other two beorc nations, but that is the past. The war still weighs heavily on me and the deaths of close friends cannot easily be forgotten."

"It would be easy for you to say. I have already lost one of my brood-kin to madness, to lose a man I considered a brother for almost an entire century to Daein treachery is a pain you will not know." Elincia knew she touched a nerve when her husband brought up his lifespan into the argument. It was one she could not truly fight, but she had grown accustomed to.

She sighed and gave her response. "I still grieve for those who gave themselves for us, to be where we are now, yet it has been amended. We have a new threat to be concerned about and improving relationships should be at the forefront. No amount of anger could bring back your friend Lotz."

Tibarn growled, his chest rumbled against Elincia's head. "I still don't like it." His hand had moved from her hair to her bare back, and he felt himself smiling as she trembled as his warm fingers touched her cold pale skin. "Though I understand you are using this to further your own plans. Summoning the lords of the realm to vote of the ascension of Marek is a bold move, but one I cannot help but admire."

It was Elincia's turn to bring work into their bed. "It is time we restore the dukedom of Felirae, and Marek is the perfect candidate. I have seen him grow from a child to a man in three years. He has the traits to lead, and the history to solidify his claim. He also has Ludveck as a reminder of what happens if steps out of line."

"Yet you lie about what has happened to him. He is not dead, though whenever you speak to the child you make it sound as if you killed him yourself." Tibarn mentioned, his hand stopping as Elincia adjusted herself.

"I all but swung the sword myself. He has probably starved to death by now or drowned trying to swim to the mainland. Marek will hear the truth one day, but until then he needs to be reminded of what I am capable of. He has witnessed my other examples of justice, and has walked along your Terminus Path. Each skull dipped in silver is a reminder to him, every time I swing my sword to end the life of a truly guilty unrepentant murderous craven tells him of the fate that awaits him should he stumble as hard as his brother."

Ever since House Rickard was destroyed in the Mad King's War and the only remaining heir disappeared shortly before Ludveck's Rebellion, the duty of royal executioner had remained vacant and as such Elincia often found herself carrying out the sentences herself. She never enjoyed killing especially one where her opponent did not have the chance to defend, but when done for a reason, it was just another taxing chore. She only handled those that were of royal nature or inside Melior itself, and she only carried out the sentence if there was no doubt of guilt or remorse from condemned.

She gave a quick and clean death behind a black veil so that none would know her identity. Each time she carried it out, she retired to her chambers for the rest of the day because it took so much from her to carry out that sentence. She needed to remember what death was like, and if she became distant from the gravity of her laws, she knew she would be a despot in the fullness of time.

Tibarn shook his head, and brought Elincia's chin up and had his warm fingers grace her neck, passing over a small circular scar next to her throat. "You bring up death so casually in our bed. What happened?"

Elincia gave a sad smile, her husband knew her well. She pulled herself up into a sitting position. "I had the dream again. The one with the three headed wolf. Fire, smoke, and death surrounded the city as a giant three headed wolf, eyes red as hellfire fighting a monster of shadows. I was in the middle of it all, I couldn't breath and I saw nothing but death and misery wherever I looked."

It was a lie, but one she hid well. She had that dream many times, yes, but it was not the dream that troubled her. The one that placed her in a foul mood was a simple one. One with her on a grassy plain and a little child, no more than ten winters old, running to her with light green hair and hazel eyes. _Her_ eyes.

She ran to meet him, the sweet spring winds tossing the long grass around them. She smiled as she reached the child, and scooped the boy up into her arms as she twirled him around. He laughed and called her something she wanted to hear.

Mommy.

Then the world became dark as he faded from her grasp, her screams silent as she heard familiar voices in her head. Shame, condemnation, and a door slamming before she would wake up.

She couldn't tell him about this, no one but her and Lucia knew. And she had to have it remain that way.

She sighed and looked Tibarn in the eyes. "Please, I want to feel nothing but you. No titles, no nobles, no politics. Just two individuals lost in passion."

"Anything for you, my little rabbit." Tibarn captured her lips and brought his wings around her.


	4. Chapter 4

The rain had not let up since the evening, and Marek changed his attire accordingly to await the arrival of the Daein Queen. He tightened the copper embossed belt around his waist, making sure that the black velvet shirt was smoothed and tucked in. He was a royal ward with nobility in him, but by the law of the land he was not a noble yet. As such he could not wear the icon of his house, wear the colors, or even use his last name when addressing himself.

Still, he was heir to the Overlord of the North, and weather like this offered and excuse to dress like the Keepers of the Northern Coast. Velvet trousers of a similar dark color embroidered with threads of gold and silver in patterns that seemed more like the astral waves in the winter night sky. The clothing was soft and comfortable to wear, though the material could have been thicker to keep his body dry.

That is what the cloak and leather vest was for. The vest was a simple brown color, the fresh smell had long since left but it was still well cared for with seamless stitching and well defined patterns. Smooth to the touch and shining from the waterproof treatment, he fastened the bronze buttons with steady hands.

The cloak was made from thick cotton with an entire brown bear pelt lining the inside, edge trimmings, and around his collar. It was a heavy cloak, but the animal served a practical use. Northerners honored the hunt, and to kill for sport without any use for the animal was almost treated like a crime, provided it was not rabid or diseased in any way. Heads could be mounted, but everything else had to serve an actual purpose. It always irked him to see the lords and ladies from the south of the kingdom wear furs that had no use besides looks. Might as well toss the fur on the floor and use it to wipe your boots on it.

He attached the two leather straps across each other as he tightened it to his frame. Next was polished leather boots, and as he took a seat to place them on, he heard his chamber door open. He felt a scowl cross his lips, but didn't need to look up once he spied a black robe tied with a purple silken sash just shy from touching the floor. "Soren, you do know that it is considered polite to knock and await permission to enter a room?"

"Indeed, though it is wasted time. It has been an hour since breakfast, you would be here and since you do not have to wear such excessive clothing like the Queen, it shouldn't take you as long." The mage responded in a measured tone that bordered on the monotone. He seemed almost bored with the current circumstances, as if meeting foreign royals was an affair everyone did after Sunday breakfast. "Still, it took you quite some time to clothe yourself."

"That is because some of us wear more than one style of robes." Marek responded. He put his last boot on and smoothed out his clothing as he stood up. A thump was heard in the adjacent room and Marek raised his voice. "Severus and Manaus, quit fooling around and get dressed!"

"We are already dressed!" Severus shouted back

"Then get out here so I can make sure you are ready." Marek commanded. Shortly after the words left his lips, his two younger and energized brothers rushed out into the main living area. Marek made a mental note to have a talk with the cooks not to give his siblings more than two honeyfingers for breakfast each, which on top of the milk tea created bouts of energy that would prove hard to dispel.

The two children were dressed appropriately and almost looked like variants of the clothes he wore. Severus wore lighter browns with the cloak, tunic, and trousers while Manus had dark blue for his clothing choice with white wolf fur lining the inside of his cloak. Marek nodded in approval, and made a motion for the two siblings to follow him and Soren.

"It matters not what I wear, just as long as it is clean and well kept. I have no desire to stand around like a blasted peacock with a multihued cloth regardless of whom it is for." Soren continued as the group walked down the large hallway of the cool castle. Windows let in some light but most of it was provided by the torches. "Besides, it is a utilitarian garment that keeps me protected from the elements and the plainness of it keeps the egotistical from seething in jealousy at the dress of their better."

Cold and prickly, the two defining characteristics of the sage. Marek decided not to rise to the thinly veiled backhanded comment, and walked down the stairs while being ever mindful of the dripping water that fell from the cracks in the ceiling. "Well, the guests today are sovereigns and they deserve the respect given upon meeting them. Beyond that is entirely upon their shoulders."

"Careful, you are sounding like a rational individual rather than a drone for the realm." Soren stated, then he adopted a walking stance similar to what they would do during the nightly tactic lessons. "We ended our lessons earlier than normal in light of today's events, so we will continue where we left off. Tell me, what is the best way to counter a siege?"

"Strong walls, secure full storehouses, and enough men to guard the walls adequately." Marek explained, giving a textbook answer one would expect from someone who had just read about the subject. "Surviving the siege is another matter entirely. No matter how strong the walls, no amount of soldiers will stop sickness from spreading in an enclosed area."

Soren nodded, "And how does this start?"

"Three ways, often all at the same time. Most noticeable is that the besieging army launches the poxed bodies of livestock or their own over the walls. Psychological and biological warfare in one objective. Net is the uncleanliness. Many instances a lord would block the sewers to avoid a sneak attack by the vanguard. Because of this, the contents of the pot is just thrown into the street." Marek stated, being careful not to use a word that his brothers would say nonstop like a couple of parrots.

They moved down the hallway and made a left turn threw the kitchen, where the bread for the day was doing its final rise before it would be baked for lunch and supper. Marek speared a purple olive with a small sliver of wood and popped it in his mouth "If it is not properly disposed of, then this becomes a festering mess. Finally, normal illnesses that were just passing through the ranks becomes a contagion due to the strict confines. Could be something as simple as a fever that grows into a monster or a dreaded illness such as pox or typhus."

"Any other problems beyond the opposing army?" Soren asked.

Marek pulled the pit of the olive out of his moth and flicked it unto a brazier. "Food. No matter how well stocked you are food will always be a problem. Rats and other pests will eat their fill, then then there are the thieves. When food becomes scarce, anything edible is worth its weight in coin. Diamonds and pearls are sold for a jar of salt fish and a sack of potatoes, so thieves hoard or steal food before and during the siege. Moment the gates close, they become wealthier than the lords. Remove the known thieves by one mean or another, then you have only the fools who would try to steal. Start rationing early for all inhabitants so the sudden implement isn't met with backlash."

"Indeed, you are learning this lesson well. Though you do not seem to do so well in the games of regicide we play often. You learn the rules, you do not know how implement it." The master and pupil would have continued the line of thought were it not for the fact that they had reached the main gateway where the entourage would be coming. Soren shook his head and moved out into the elements without so much as another word, with a look on his face that was the same of a man who was about to do a task like shoveling the stables. Smoothing his clothes out one last time, Marek walked out into the rain and into the assembled crowd.

Every individual who was not busy on guard duty what gathered in clean clothes that defined their profession. Marek and his brothers weaved through the crowd and took their places right next to Geoffrey, who was clad in his ultramarine blue armor that was rife with scratches and scars from training. He wore a helmet with a face plate of an eagle but it was raised so he could look the visiting monarch in the eye. He spared Marek, Severus and Manaus a small smile that reassured them that they had not missed anything.

Elincia and Tibarn were at the center and standing three steps in front of the others, dressed in regal clothes befitting of their position. Elincia wore an ornate orange-cream dress with a cloak of blue wool and cotton wrapped around her shoulders, the crown of Crimea on top of her head. Tibarn wore an embroidered green shirt and tan pants that looked like his daily garb but with no tears or buttons missing. He too wore a cloak, and he seemed to be annoyed that he had to accept the fact that he was cold and wear a brown and white specked fur cloak with dark lime green cloth.

Their children, Lotz and Selena, were bundled up and stood next to their parents, albeit clutching the hems of their cloaks to support them. Marek then noticed that his brothers had taken a note from the young prince and princess and were under his cloak to keep themselves dry from the rain. He sighed, reminding himself that being well over six feet tall brought its own advantages and disadvantages.

The other notable individuals of the court were in the line directly behind the royals. Lucia and her son Paris wore matching clothes of white with grey trimmings. Renning, Geoffrey's technical superior despite holding the same rank, was directly behind his niece and grandniece in full pristine armor. Then there was Bastian who, like Soren, wore his usual cloak albeit with far greater embellishments.

Marek felt his stomach churn slightly, knowing that he had to address himself to Queen Michiah, a foreigner who was more likely than not unfamiliar with his situation. How would she handle that, knowing that the Elincia had given her somebody less than the lowest bastard responsibility to take care of her needs? He knew that many of the Crimean nobles would raise an almost violent objection.

He shook his head. It would not matter, he was a member of the royal court, and ward of the High Vizier of Delbray. The King and Queen saw him fit as the position of caretaker for the visit. She would not risk herself by placing him in the position if she did not think he was ready

His black thoughts were interrupted when he heard a cry from the guards of the gate. It was an announcement that the guests were here. It was as if someone sent a jolt of electricity through the crowd as they all faced forward.

Three black horses speckled with white were the first sign of the approaching carriage, with their Myrmidon riders clad in black and red paint with a stylized dragon encircling their breastplates. The forward vanguard road past the gathered crowd of the castle, their full helmets covering any displays at emotion. Four other horses, their hides white as fresh snow, soon came next and they were tethered to an ornate carriage. Behind the carriage were three more Myrmidon riders and a few assorted personnel on top of their own horses. The rest of the group must have broken off to find room at the inns in the town.

The driver dismounted from the top of the carriage and pulled free three stairs that he placed in front of the door. Marek felt himself unintentionally sucking in his gut a little and stood just a little bit straighter as his brothers left the confines of his cape and stood in the cold rain once again.

The driver rapped three times on the door and stood aside with his hands folded behind his back. The door soon opened and the Queen of the Meritocratic Kingdom of Daein stepped out into the cold rain. In truth, she was not quite what Marek had expected. He had heard tales of the war with the Laguz Alliance against Begnion and their then-puppet Daein State. He had heard about the charismatic Micaiah leading the army from the front with both hands engulfed in eldritch flame. How she was an emblem to the entire army, imposing and could move mountains with but a single command.

The woman who walked down those steps onto the wet cobblestone wearing the vestments of royalty seemed little older than he was. She stood at his same height but that was in no small part to the heeled boots, and if she removed him he would stand at least a head over her. The thick robes and cloak sank around her frame that gave the idea of a child trying on their parent's clothes rather than a grown adult and regent. She wore a small tiara of silver and rubies that rose up like wildfire from her head of white hair.

Then came the King, and the former cutpurse looked even more out of his element. He wore an entire suit and coat made from black leather with several tools designed with lock picking intentions on his belt next to a jeweled dagger hilt. He wore no crown upon his head, though Marek did know that the Daein kings wore a particularly ornate crown, though weather Sothe left it behind for safe keeping or because he despised wearing it was unknown.

The two royals walked up to their counterparts and for a moment there was nothing but the weak wind and droplets of rain making sound. "Your grace." Elincia said with a small bow and her hand over her heart. Micaiah looked taciturn for a moment before a smile broke out returned the gesture with a deeper stoop in her form. Sothe and Tibarn grasped wrists with a silent nod of respect.

"You honor us with your hospitality." Micaiah stated in a soft, though firm tone that was a little difficult to hear from so far away. "When we last met it was in Phoenicis two years ago, you were saying lasting vows to this man. You look like you have not aged since then and look as radiant as you did then."

Elincia could not help but give a chuckle at the memory of her wedding and unification of Phoenicis and Crimea. "You were quite a sight there as well, though it was warmer and with less rain. I shudder to think what I looked like then if I look the same then as I do now." Micaiah turned slightly red in embarrassment, though Elincia gave a warm smile that banished the embarrassment. Sothe rested an arm around his wife's shoulders and Elincia continued to speak. "From what I have heard from my ambassadors you have done great work improving your nation. It seems that we have much to discuss for the mutual benefit of our nations."

Sothe nodded, "It also looks like we have some new individuals to talk to." He knelt down in front of the shy prince Lotz and ruffled the crop of hair on his head. Selena was far more accepting and gave Michiah a small hug. "Healthy children in the care of good parents. They will make great rulers in the fullness of time."

Elincia and Tibarn parted and allowed the visiting royals to see the crowd. They walked down the line, shaking the hands of the front row of individuals. He heard salutations to solemn armored gauntlets gasping at the hands of the royals. Marek felt his nervousness return to him, unsure what to do as he looked forward. He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths to calm himself down. He could do this. He could explain everything and if not, Geoffrey was right next to him to help him.

He opened his eyes just at the right moment after Geoffrey bided his greetings to Micaiah and Sothe. Then there they were, standing right in front of him. Time slowed for a moment, like lamp oil crawling across icy cobblestone. He looked directly into Michiah's eyes and instantly felt three feet smaller. There was the power he heard about, that fiery passion and zeal the knights talked about when they shared flagons of ales around the hearth in the middle of a cold winter night.

The moment passed and Marek greeted them. He firmly gripped Micaiah's hand and then Sothe's in turn. "I do not believe we have met before." Sothe stated in a straight to the point tone of voice.

"I am Marek, son of Sicarius Damon. My younger brothers Severus and Manaus, your graces." He stated in an equal response, giving his two siblings a little push to shake hands or give a slight bow. No need for titles right now, he didn't want to make the guests confused for a first impression. "Her Majesty has elected me to be your host for the duration of your visit. Ask and I will accommodate best I can."

"Ah, so you are the lordling I have heard about." Micaiah stated, and Marek tried his best not to wince at the title. It was a derogative term, one that was used in a variety of ways and he was familiar with each of them. He knew Micaiah meant not insult, at least he hoped. "I hope her faith in you isn't misplaced. To put a child in charge of such a drastic undertaking would not bode well if this week is not up to standards."

Marek could only offer a forced smile at the comment. "She has not, your grace."

Geoffrey interjected at that moment, obviously sensing the discomfort of his Ward. "You must be tired from the travels. The midday meal is almost ready, and you should get situated. Your rooms have been prepared and your guards will be aided by ten of my finest knights from the Second with five from Elincia's own personal guard. Please, this way."

The group moved to go inside, the rain starting to fall faster and with greater intensity. A set of dry clothes, some wine in the belly and the day would be underway. Customary gifts would be exchanged for welcomes, another glass of wine or ale would be given, and then the meal would begin. Lunch was being prepared and once the guests had settled in, they would have a light midday feast. The royals would have their meal alone with two close advisors for each side, to discuss the concerns of states. Normally, the other lords would not be privy to such a private but Marek was no true lord so he would be allowed to be there like a child. Present, but not participating. Marek pushed his brothers along, urging them to get ready and he will be with them in a moment. He hovered to the back, making sure everyone was in front of him. Then he walked away from the group, he needed to be alone for a moment.

He walked at a brisk pace, feeling his hands instinctively close into a fist. Lordling, there was another way he was spoken to with that word, and it cut deeper than any other word when it had that meaning to it. It reminded him that he was a little lord, one not ready for this position. One not desiring it but it was thrusted upon him by fate, chance, or the Goddess casting lots to determine what woes would befall his family. It brought back something to the front of his mind, one that was as bitter as poison.

He dreamed a familiar dream last night, and each time he dreamed it was as bad as the first time he had it. And every day he had to remind himself by visiting the place his dream took him. It was a place on the castle grounds, public but often avoided when it was not in use.

He retraced his steps as he had done a hundred times, each footstep punctuated by a flash in his mind's eye of the dream. One foot in front of the other with jeers abound. He then reached wooden steps, and slowly began to ascend them, one after the other thirteen times. Monster, killer, less than refuse among other less than proper names. Sometimes old vegetables were thrown at him, other times there were stones. Sometimes it was as quiet as a graveyard, the thundering heartbeat the only sound to be heard. It didn't matter, because the dream was always the same.

It was an execution, one he had only heard about and his dreams created one for him. It was the one of his brother's. The dream always ended the same way, Marek swinging an edge blade down cleaving the head off of Ludveck.

Marek walked up to the chopping block and felt the groves cut into the block with his own fingers. It was a block of wood that had seen much use, and the blood of those who had met their destiny on it had soaked the wood so that it could not be removed no matter how well the attendants scrubbed. Some of this blood must be his brother's and one of these groves dealt the deathblow.

Marek hated the man Ludveck became after the Mad King's War, but after all was said and done, he was his brother. Ludveck was the one who taught him how to pick up a sword, to read and write. Ludveck was there to charge into the wardrobe to banish imagined monsters when Marek was younger, to prepare spicy turkey and dumpling soup when the cold season came around, and to take time out of his day to play with his brothers no matter how hectic things were. Fond memories that were overshadowed by the misguided man he became in those months leading up to the madness.

Even years after, those memories still brought moisture to Marek's eyes as he recalled those few happy moments before the madness. He wished he could speak to Ludveck one last time, be it just to talk or to forgive each other. They had parted in anger at each other and when the blade fell that was the last memory of his younger brothers Ludveck must have had.

He removed his fingers from the block and looked out at the castle, and for a brief moment saw it as a home he had not seen in three years. He never wanted this, any of it. He didn't want to rule Felirae, he would have been content becoming a learned scholar, or a knight fighting to keep the peace from those who cannot defend themselves. He didn't want to drink from this cup and embroil himself in politics, ruling, taxation, the like!

Yet his brother was gone, left to join the ancestors on this very scaffold, and now the title was passing towards him. He could not avoid it, it was his burden to bear and his brothers were too young to concern themselves with matters of state and succession. He needed to be strong, he needed to keep his head high for their sake more than his. The wolves would be at their door and Marek had to be ready. Still, he wished for a familiar face.

Marek stood there alone on the scaffold, perhaps vainly hoping for some voice to come to him to reassure him about his future. Anything, but there was nothing but the slow breeze and the rain falling to the ground like clear drops of blood. He took in a deep breath of the wet, cold air and slowly walked down stairs to get back inside the castle before people would wonder where he was.

But the dream would return, and he would have to return to the headsman's block to see if the spirits would talk. So far, they seemed content to remain as silent as the crypts they resided in.


	5. Chapter 5

The royal study was well lit for the lunch meeting with a great hearth that crackled behind the guests assembled for a light midday meal. Fresh baked white bread sat in pairs of four at each third of the table next to sharp cheese, butter, honey, and a variety of fruit preserves. Next there were a salad of light greens, dandelions, radishes, with slices of slow roasted pork and flakes of dried basil tossed in a raspberry vinaigrette. It was a personal favorite of Lady Lucia who was in attendance today to aid the Rose Queen and the Hawk King.

Micaiah and Sothe were attended by a few note takers and individuals with large books chained to them, containing the information of the kingdom in a statistical analysis. There was supposed to be a blond military adviser, a Lord Leonardo if Marek recalled correctly, but he was handling the lodging situation for the Daeins while doubtlessly getting looks from every hot blooded woman in the city.

Elincia had Renning and Lucia at her side for the meeting, each one enjoying the light lunch provided. Marek, however, was not seated amongst the royal guests. He was to be present, but not participate. He stood next to the hearth, his cloak drying on a nearby chair, hands held behind his back with other refreshments nearby.

A glorified servant, and it looked like the visitors were enjoying themselves to have him at their beck and call. As if to punctuate that point, Micaiah held out her glass cup and Marek came over with a pitcher of strongwine dark as stag blood. He filled the glass just shy of the brim and stepped back. She continued her sentence after taking a drink. "You must understand that we have our own concerns and needs for our military at home before we can engage in another officer exchange program. I could offer you the service of our Rangers of the White Woods for such-"

Renning cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Do you insult us? Convicts, bastard-born, and debtors to be trained by my knights? Psh, you would have an easier time brining a Heron to strike someone than have I oversee such a wasteful endeavor. We are not asking for the entire Dawn Brigade to be here for a few months, we need a handful of teachers to take what they learn and come back home. Not return to some exile in the mountains or wilderness."

If either royal was offended by Renning, which was not to be a surprise as the man offended others as well as he could draw a sword, they did not show it. Sothe spoke after swallowing a sliver of radish. "Still, the recent attacks have left the public afraid and the military is there to keep order while assuring the people that they are not forgotten. We have next to no troops to spare but the Rangers. It is not the situation we wished for nut it is the one we have to deal with."

Marek could hear Tibarn growl when that sentence was stated. He had heard little about the Rangers, an order of outcasts and criminals who kept the wilderness free from tribes of marauders and brigands. Given the choice between that, the dungeons or the axe, most chose to take the oath of voluntary exile. Other nations used the Rangers as a way to remove themselves of troublesome individuals, or as a way for those in trouble to escape it. Once a man became a Ranger, all crimes would be absolved out of tradition, and because chasing an individual through barely mapped territory was a waste of resources.

Marek remembered a few of the notable members of the Rangers, including the former Begnion Senator Hetzel who joined the woods after he fell out a favor with the court three years ago. Fierce individuals, though there perhaps was not a lot they could teach the royal knights that would aid them in the fight against the Flayed Ones.

Elincia interjected before the two could continue. "It is only one of the matters we have to attend to today. An idea at that. A renewal of trade agreements with the guilds has already been taken care of, though the craftsmen with cry out regardless of what is in the agreement. Let us not get tied up in a single issue when the day is young." She took a knife with a dollop of butter on the end and gentle began to spread it over a slice of white bread. "We will come back to it later, but what other concerns can we address?"

One of the bookkeepers of Daein spoke up, a young man with a high voice, perhaps a eunuch given the lack of other masculine signs such as hair on the face or broader chest. "There is the matter of the reliquary, milady. As you know during the Mad King War, Ashnard took plunder and laid it in a vault hidden away from all besides him and those who built it, who most likely are dead now."

Elincia nodded, and Marek felt his pulse grow quick. His home was raided during the war, and several heirlooms were stolen. Specifically the gold and platinum olive branch laurels used as a crown, a suit of unpainted thrice blessed silver armor with runes of power etched on every surface, and a master crafted longsword he had only seen in books. "I take it is no longer a secret." Lucia stated as she sipped seventeen year old spirits.

Michiah nodded, though there was some hesitance to it. Something wasn't right. "It has, and we are more than ready to give it back if we have a list of that which was lost financially. However, there is little we can separate from observation. Though it did appear that someone found it before we did and there were a few things missing. We don't know what was stolen, the Mad King was not the best at keeping records, but it must have been something of importance because a pedestal was empty, with the dust disturbed around it."

Tibarn nodded and tore off a hunk of mixed grain bread with his bare hands, earning a tisk of disapproval from his wife when the knife to cut the bread was closest to him. "When the lords are gathered, I will make sure they have they have lists of valuables you can compare to the list to your reserves. Coins will not be included, as I have doubts the numbers would be correct."

Sothe nodded and the bookkeepers began to scrawl down the comments and plans of action. Another glass was held out and Marek came over again to fill it to the brim. There was a moments respite from the talking as they focused on their meals. Marek turned his attention to the fire and used a fire poker to break up the logs so that fresh ones could be safely added.

It also allowed him to listen to the conversation, with the others thinking his back was turned meant that he was not listening to what they were saying. He picked up on some ideal comments from the scholars that this was being a productive meeting, and that there would be good news once they returned to the capital and presented the lords with.

But as he added logs from oak trees into the fire, his ears caught his name. It was a feminine voice, barely a whisper but loud enough he could hear the words said. "Marek seems little better than a butler, and he is to be the heir apparent to the realms of the north?" It was Micaiah, it must be. Lucia was all too familiar with him and had used several insults to his face when he acted like a sullen child, that phrase was not one of them.

A response, doubtlessly Elincia. "It is his by birthright and he has been brought up as a loyal peer to the realm. However, it must be confirmed by the other lords and ladies of both the mainland and the islands. I could give him his ancestral home with nothing but a wave of my hand, yet to give him the powerful position his family had as Overlord of the North requires a consensus."

Marek placed another log unto the fire. A new voice joined the conversation, an older one that was hard and grated. "Perhaps it would be better if the title of overlord went to another. The fires of his brother's rebellion should have eradicated the entire tree, letting another take its place. It may have been a mercy to strip the wards of all titles and be done with it. Less of a headache to worry about this."

Renning. The aging cunt. He had been the fiercest objector to Marek living in the castle and made it no small secret. Marek had dealt with this speech prior, and quite frequently. _Better you died in the womb rather than suffer the shame of your brother. Why you are still breathing is a question I will not find an answer for. You are not worthy to own even a grain of sand in the Great Desert._ This list was long, and Marek's patience was short. Dealing with this in private or with a few gathered was one thing, saying it to the visiting royals was another matter entirely.

Micaiah spoke again. "Perhaps." The words hit Marek like a haymaker, though he did not show any emotion to it.

He gripped the fire poker tighter and stabbed it into the fire a few more times before he placed it away with perhaps too much force. It was enough for the conversation to end, though from the looks on a few faces, Lucia was about to say a few harsh words to a family friend or guest. Marek masked his face with a look of indifferent ignorance and stood next to the fire awaiting for another demand.

It was Lucia who spoke next. The conversations returned to talks about the military training despite several attempts to go back to something else. It was a drawn out endeavor, with Marek constantly filling glasses to aid a conversation going nowhere without any compromise in sight. During a particularly heated exchange when it seemed that somebody was going to throw something, Elincia knew that it would serve no good purpose to have Marek in the fold, lest he be used as a target by anyone despite not saying a word since the food was served.

She made an off motion with her hand that told Marek to attend his training. He gave a slight bow and parted without a single word. Normally he would have gone straight to Bastian and have to endure another history lesson filled with Crimean exceptionalism, but not today. He needed to let out some frustrations at Renning, the whole event, everything and he knew just who would help him with that.

* * *

Two hours later, Marek was covered in a thin film of sweat, panting to catch his breath. Goddess this was what he lived for, and he had the best partner for it too. "Attack." Mia commanded and Marek did so. He struck out with his rapier blade, and Mia casually smacked it aside and lunged in for the thrust. It was Marek's turn to repost her attack and the two moved back and forth on a thin strip of oak. Both were using dulled tourney swords and were practicing movement. Mastering the simple back and forth before they moved to chaotic movement of a real fight.

Marek thrusted low and would have hit Mia in the chest, but she used the guard of her sword to slap the blade away and hit Marek in the stomach with the point of her sword. The two stopped and Marek felt the skin bruise. Even under the practice leather studded with bronze with dulled weapons, it still was difficult to hold back strength. Marek grunted and sighed. "Strike me more and I will be more bruises than man."

"Each pain is a lesson, each lesson makes you wiser." Mia reminded him before she turned to half face him to explain her observation. "You keep paying attention to where your feet are and have little focus on where the blade of your opponent would be. When you thrusted, my blade was in the prefect position to knock it aside. Keep your eye on the opponent sword, the footwork will follow."

Marek nodded and they assumed positions again. A nod and the two struck at each other again. It was easy to see why Mia was selected to become a Knight, her swordsmanship was exemplary. She had a fine knowledge for the skill of fencing, able to handle all of the weapons of the armory with ease and someone to talk to. The two individuals raised their blades again and began to smack the swords lightly against each other, practicing form of the sword strikes. "You seem tense, was the meeting that boring and you were looking for something to do?"

Marek gave a half smile and went through the motions of his sword strikes. "Quite the opposite, though I guess not participating in it made me desire some action. Though my main concern is against Renning and the rest of the lot I usually don't have to deal with."

Mia nodded and noted that his blows had more force to them after brought up the subject. "I understand. The Warhorse is thirsty for the bygone days when he was at his prime. He thinks he still holds considerable power in the court. He thinks he is a clever political animal, but he is utterly predictable. His strengths lie in strength at arms, riches, the respect of his men, and birth. Only the first he truly has to his own and soon that will desert him."

She struck out in a surprise motion, one Marek deflected after the initial surprise of her motion. He pushed it aside with his own blade and held the point of it at Mia's chin. She nodded in defeat and the two returned to practicing forms. "Indeed. Sooner, rather than later, he will become an old armchair warrior trying to capture the glories of old. But he does have sway as the Queen's uncle and as Supreme Commander of the Royal Army. I have the feeling he despises me because I may yet hold power he could never wield as a fellow second born son."

Mia scoffed. "I think he hates you more because Geoffrey took the task of raising you. The world already has one and we don't need another he would say. " She stated in a lighthearted tone. It was brave of her to so openly comment about Renning, especially with prying ears all to ready to see this newly minted knight tarnished. "The royals are often like an old tree. One too old and set in their ways to bent with the changings of the wind. In a storm they will often crack and be destroyed. I wouldn't take the hatred personally, when the dust settles I don't doubt that he would be the least vocal opponent."

The two broke from their practices and Marek placed his practice sword aside. He fetched some icy spring water and gave it to Mia, who seemed thankful as the cold liquid rushed down her throat. Marek sat down on a small chair trying to recuperate. The weather, for the most part, had subsided though it was still cold and damp outside. Doubtlessly the other landed nobles of the nations would be making their way in tonight, staying at the various inns inside the cities or demanding stay at the castle which had limited guest space already.

Still, Marek allowed himself to think of those he would be seeing in court as they wine and dined while spitting at him all the while. Lord Erebus was perhaps the least palatable, but he was a minor lord with very little political clout. It was the other four Overlords, first among equals when it came to the nobility that Marek saw the biggest concerns with. Often times, as the old saying went, where the Overlord pointed the peers of his realm would march in that direction.

Lord Arkin of Rosewood, Overlord of the South, was always the most vocal nobility in any aspect of court, and he oversaw a full third of the Crimean territory and ran it as his own country estate. He had heard Bastian speak during one of their many history lessons that had Ludveck not rebelled so soon, Arkin would have been Bastian's guess for a usurper.

Western Overlord Lady Sasha of Umber was definitely powerful and had half of her court filled with laguz, was perhaps the most indifferent and addressed the needs of her own territory. Admirable traits and was well loved with her people, though she always was the first to ask how an agreement would benefit the west.

The newest edition to the collection of Overlords was Reyson, an individual who rarely left Serenes Forrest and by extension the mainland capital state of the United Bird Tribes to attend to such matters like this. Though he was expected to show, leaving his sister and her raven husband to watch the islands and forest. Marek had only heard stories about Reyson but nothing solid. A wild card in a deck that was stacked against him.

Finally, in the east there was Lord Gorman of the Red Fort, and the man was mad. Both emotionally and when it came to the realm of sanity. He claimed to be the blood of Daein Kings, though no one could prove his boast. He was the Overlord during the Mad King War and suffered the least damage initially during the invasion. Many said that he was caught off guard and couldn't muster a defense against the invading army, while others whispered a darker borderline seditious reason why most of his treasury was left untouched.

This was going to be a long week with powerful personalities such as these in the same room arguing over matters of succession.

Marek looked to his cloak after he finished taking a sip from the goblet of water and noticed something there that was not prior. They had been alone in this small training room. No one left, and none came in. At least that they could detect. It was a small envelope, bearing a red wax seal. There was no iconography on the seal, just a round indentation to make sure that it would hold.

Marek took the note and opened it. Mia looked at it. "What is it? Marek didn't respond immediately as he glanced over the letter. He read it over again to see if there was something he missed or if there was a message for him in between the lines. He passed the notice over to Mia who also looked it over. She likewise read it again in confusion. "'Come to the Sullied Heron immediately. We have matters to discuss.' Who in their bloody mind discuss business at a whorehouse, especially with you, no offence intended."

Marek took the note back and shook his head. "None taken. Your guess is as good as mine." He stood and threw on his cloak, then reached for a belt containing a simple steel sword free of any ornamentation. Still, it was sharp and keen. "I guess we will figure out when we get there."

"Wait, we?"

"You are to be my household guard, and it is not as if we have to sleep with a few whores while we are there." Marek stated as he tied off the belt around his waist.

Mia threw on her own cloak to hide her emblem of knighthood and the priceless sword Alondite. "This could very well be a trap. Yet you are insistent on going in."

"A trap it probably is, a lord who would rather see me dead then on any type of throne perhaps or his assassins lying in wait. Perhaps it would be a simple brigand looking to make a coin on my ransom. Regardless of what the threat it, I will have you to dispel any trouble that cannot be routed by myself." Marek said and the two made their way out of the training room. He needed to stop and mention to his fellow stewards to make the needed arrangements for the guests arriving later in the day. He would be back by supper. He said the true, though restricted, statement that he had some business to handle.

They stepped out into the cold rain and headed down to the docks on the river, and to a meeting with this individual who wished to speak.


	6. Chapter 6

It was by all accounts an unassuming building. With weathered wood and stone blocks forming an almost uniformed gray of dirtied white feathers, it could easily be considered a warehouse to the casual onlooker. There was a sign that displayed a half naked white winged heron looking seductively over her shoulder, the words of the establishment written in supposed old Serenes.

Marek and Mia dismounted from their horses and tied the reigns off at the small bar outside the entrance and flipped the guard a golden floral each. Upon entering the pale gray doors, the whole atmosphere changed. Outside the smell of the river dominated everything, as well as the contents found in it such as fish and sewage. Once the doors were opened, the aroma was the first noticeable change.

It smelled of exotic spices with jasmine, saffron, ginger, and juniper berries chief among them. It was almost intoxicating, and they had barely began to enter when the noises came next. There was the sounds one would expect from a very popular brothel with plenty of new guests arriving, though it was muted behind the thick padded walls. There was also the background sound of the smoldering spices from the dozens of small braziers hanging from the walls and ceilings.

Marek and Mia walked down the red carpeted floor looking around to see who would be expecting them. The note was short, with no description of who they should be looking for. At the bar, Marek spied at least five guards he had seen at the castle with a redhead in between each of them. He tried to find a face that was familiar or at the very least looking for someone else. After five minutes of craning his head at the bar he found none. Then again, someone who wanted to talk business with a lordling would want it more or less to be a private affair. Mia thought she saw a few knights and then stopped when she got a good look at the girl who was dancing in front of them. "Who in the nine hells is that?"

Marek looked at the girl Mia was referring to. For a moment he was caught off guard, then gave a wryly smirk. The girl had long indigo hair, deep emerald eyes, and wore a half finished version of Mia's knight armor with the other parts of the armor lying down on the ground haphazardly discarded. In every sense of the word, the whore looked very convincingly like Mia, even sounded like her as she enticed the knights to greater and greater amounts of coin for divine pleasures. "Apparently the Sullied Heron found an opportunity after the war. With many comely individuals fighting in Crimea and abroad, several whorehouses partnered with theater troops to make some look like the notable heroes. Many will not have the chance to bed Mia the Avenging Hero of Dunkirk, Queen Elincia or Sir Ike the Radiant hero, but the makeup and voice training is convincing enough."

As if to further drive his point home, a woman walked up to them with shortcut light blue hair and a pure white dress, obviously representing Lucia and from the looks of the smudged black makeup that looked like bruise she must have just gotten done with a fantasy of a maiden rewarding her savior from certain death. When she spoke, the voice was very uncanny. "You seem lost. Are you looking for a particular man or woman? I have a feeling my brother would be eager to please you." She teased Mia who turned a very bright shade of red. She didn't know if she should be flattered or insulted.

She then glanced over to Marek and tenderly touched his arm. "You carry so much on your shoulders, I can feel it. Perhaps I can help with that stress." Her hand then began to trace lines on his chest before Marek thrusted out the back of the envelope to show 'Lucia' the blank wax sigil. Her hand stopped as if an electrical jolt just went through her.

She spun around with a hasty, "This way, please." The back of her dress was nonexistent, leaving Marek and Mia with a good view of her backside. Marek tried to avoid it the best he could, but could feel his belt line getting tighter.

They were brought to a large staircase, with two heavy guards standing in front of it. Tiger laguz from the looks of it. The woman who tried to look like Lucia showed the guards the blank single and they parted to allow entrance. She then spoke in character, but with a hint of genuine pleading "Please, hurry. The mistress does not like to be kept waiting." Marek nodded and began to walk up the stairs with Mia behind him, but the guards blocked her path.

"I am sorry little one, but you are not the one the mistress requested to speak to." The one on the left spoke in a deep tone of voice, deeper than normal for the tigers.

"I am going with him." Mia stated in an even tone.

"An impossibility. You are free to wait here if you wish." The other guard responded in an almost identical voice to the first. They must be twins.

"I said-"

"No, do as they say." Marek said from the stairs. He was going to call her by her name, but he knew that it would draw attention so it stopped in his throat. "You can sense trouble and if you you know it is coming act on it, but not a moment too soon."

Mia was about to protest again but realized that an outburst here would do no good. She nodded and crossed her arms in a manner that displayed condescension. Marek breathed out a sigh of relief, expecting her to go on a tirade against this idea but remembered who she was. He headed up the stairs, the carpet giving way to polished marble.

When he saw the landing at the top, he spied two figures. An exhausted man putting a robe on and a woman. "I see you received my invitation." The hawk spoke and slowly turned around. Her face was young but chiseled with scars that seemed to glow white. Piercing hazel eyes were sharper than Tibarn's , and fine silks draped her form. Marek inadvertently swallowed even though he had not drunk anything. Here she was, the whisper not far from the mouth of anyone who was involved in the underground. The Reaver of Ships, the Bandit Queen. Kalidor.

Kalidor motioned for Marek to sit down on the soft velvet couch, while she commanded the man she had just spent time with to fetch wine for him and the girl who looked like Mia down at the foot of the stairs. She sat down on the couch, near Marek but far enough away as to not insinuate flirtation. After a moment, Marek found the voice to speak again. "You wished to discuss something with me?"

"No, I brought you all the way out here so I could have my way with you on this couch. Of course I wanted to talk with you." She said in a dry tone as the servant came back with three glass goblets of blood red wine. Marek took one and looked at the glass as he swirled the drink around. No bubbles or discoloration that would suggest something tainting it. He sipped it, and he concluded that it was pure wine. "You are in a unique position, and I think we can both help each other to get something we both want by the end of this week."

"What are you suggesting? I won't steal documents or spy for you." Marek stated plainly and upfront, giving the illusion of a stalwart against injustice. He was however, playing along with Kalidor to gage her true intentions.

"I don't need something that trivial from you. I have a network around the continent that keeps me updated of anything. No one can lift a finger without me hearing about it. That dramatic fool who leads your intelligence ministry, oblivious to the fact he knows half of what I do. If I want to know something from the castle, I will have it in an hour." Kalidor explained as she swirled her won wine and looked down at the main room of her brothel. "What I need, Marek, is coin."

Before Marek could respond, Kalidor continued. "I am quite a wealthy individual, the money from this brothel alone after everyone's cut can easily be considered a vast sum of wealth. The protection fees, licensing for smaller bands to operate in specific districts, avoidance of most taxes, and other ventures in this city alone would be breathtaking if you saw it all piled in one place. Ignoring-"

"Then why do you want coin if you practically run your own small kingdom?" Marek interrupted.

"Straight to the point, I like that." Kalidor smiled for a brief moment, but it was a smile that one would give before a brutal beating. "My money only has value if I have it, and a considerable amount of it is tied up in loans to some of the powerful inbreeds in this country. Many are overdue for months and because of you many will be coming right here."

"I fail to see how this helps both of us."

"I know all, see all, and hear all. Many lords would rather see you become a corpse than a Lord, let alone an Overlord. Many of those same individuals happen to owe me considerable amounts of money." Marek understood what she was saying. "The trouble is getting close to a particular target to have him hand over the money or suffer the consequences is what I need you for. It just so happens that this one would rally against you and is an Overlord."

"Again, how does this help me?" Marek stated as he sipped more from the glass of wine.

"This man will not pay me back. He is too proud to admit that he owes a criminal like me something. Ironic, because he is a criminal in every nation if some secrets were told to the right people. I need you to corner him, give me an opportunity to take him away. A criminal is removed from the peers of the realm, and a powerful voice against you is silence. You tell about his crimes to the queen, a lot of strings will be pulled to kill the investigation and then you and your brothers will wind up in a very bloody painful accident by this man's hand." Kalidor stated as she reached into bowl of faworki with a cinnamon powdered sugar dusting on them. They were still warm and had a thin coat of grease.

"Remove an overlord from power during a conference? Not only is that impossible but I would be the prime suspect." Marek stated and took some of the faworki when it was offered to him. "I'm not going to help because-"

"This man still practices slavery, exclusive laguz slavery!" Kalidor snapped so loud Marek swore the whole whorehouse stopped in dead silence for a moment. The sounds continued as Kalidor struggled to place the mask of control back on. "As you can see, when I found out about this… this individual is on the top of my priority list."

Marek nodded. Slavery, especially in a kingdom that prided itself on equality was a grave crime. Someone could cover that up easily enough could only be an Overlord. "Still, this violates the laws and code of morals I am supposed to uphold as a lord or any citizen. Laws don't make perfect societies, but they make loyal societies."

"The high road is attractive, but you will have a very difficult time walking it and having your friends follow you. I am giving you a chance to remove a threat from you and the nation at large, not to recreate the same folly your brother did. I will even give you the choice of what would be done with him once he is in my custody. I will only kill him if you wish it, though there are some fates that are worse than death." Kalidor explained.

Marek nodded. He remembered one of the last few things his brother told him before the assault on the Fort. _Honor is a word we use to control others._ If he did the honorable thing and report about the crimes of this man, it was a sentence to an early grave for not only him but his kin. He weighted the options and thought about the slaver. It must be a lesser crime to remove a slaver from the equation than let him continue his trade, by whatever means needed. "If I accept, can you promise protection from the other eyes of the realm?"

Kalidor nodded, "I will see to it myself."

"Then I need a name."

* * *

The guests have finally settled into their chambers and the lords and ladies of the realm were coming in as well. Thankfully it was going without incident, and Mist was far enough away she didn't have to concern herself with them. She may have spent the past three years serving Elincia and her household, many of them breathing legends just as much as she was, but she could not stand serving the whims of individuals, multiple at least. They were so proud lording over her telling her what ailed them and what she needed to do.

Perhaps even after so long without being in a mercenary outfit, she still couldn't let her triage habit fall to the wayside. She always tended to those who had real injuries first, while discomforts were a distant second that were often solved with berating words if the patient had been pushy. Thankfully only few had come to her with complaints of motion sickness or saddle back, particularly those from the south of the kingdom. She sent them away with a vial of water or an ointment and a few chastising words.

She relaxed next to the window letting in the warm rays of afternoon sunlight, enjoying the first true warmth in almost a day. Her window looked out over the north of the city, beyond the walls and to the mountains, The Three Sages named for the weathered surface of the rock. Over those mountains was the Northern Sea, and she felt a familiar feeling in her stomach.

"You are thinking about him, aren't you?" A voice shook her from her thoughts and she must have made an amusing sound as she did so as Geoffrey could not help but give a small laugh when she tried to recompose herself.

"You do know it is rude to not make yourself known when you enter?" She said as she smoothed out her clothes and calmed her heart down.

Geofffrey shrugged, a movement he enjoyed when he was not wearing his armor. "Your door was open so I didn't see the need." He walked over and closed the door, leaving the two alone with a swaddled Elena partly asleep recovering from a fever. Mist then noticed the Geoffrey carried his own swaddle with him. "I do bring something, a gift from Queen Micaiah when I told her you were caring for your sick child." The swaddled item began to move and Geoffrey placed the bundle down on the bed next to Elena and unwrapped it.

Mist gasped slightly when she saw the wolf pup, not out of fear that it would attack her child but because how adorable it was. The animal probably had just been weaned off the mother's teat and despite being a few weeks old was just as large as her daughter. The wolf tried to adjust his stance on the soft cot and then began to smell Elena before licking her with his tongue. Elena laughed at the new sensation. "Queen Micaiah brought a direwolf pup for each member of the royal family, plus two others."

Mist laughed and freed one of Elena's hands so that the child could feel the soft fur. "How generous of her. I must make sure I express my thanks when I see her at dinner. How did Elincia and Tibarn take it?"

"Quite well, Elincia was overjoyed when she received one as well as her children. Tibarn was a little hesitant but one look from the pup he was given softened him. I reminded him that we have a master of hounds so training them should not be a problem. The children, oh the look on their faces. They grow fast, and come the summer they should be as large as normal dogs. Domesticated direwolves have a reputation for being fiercely protective of their masters, so I may find Renning replaced as commander of the royal guard by an auburn furred wolf soon." Geoffrey chuckled and gave the grey and white furred wolf a scratch behind the ears. "You were thinking of him, weren't you?"

Mist sighed and felt her smile slowly drift away. "Yes, when the weather turns fair I do find myself thinking about him more than I should." She looked out to the mountains and then imagined the Northern Sea beyond them. "Ike left without as much as a goodbye. One day he was here in Melior attending the duties expect of him, the next he left. I like to imagine he took a boat and sailed north, beyond the maps to find a new world for him to further compound his status as a hero."

She had a wishful smile on his face, shaking her head. "Maybe he found a land populated by races we thought only to be myths, serving them as a hero of their time. Maybe he found a place where winter lasts for generations. Perhaps he is still on that ship, still searching for something."

Geoffrey didn't want to mention that those were all optimistic outcomes, and realistically if Ike was still out at sea it was probably because he was at the bottom of it. He thought he had heard sightings of Ike heading to the mountains, but there was no way to verify that. "Tell me about him."

Mist looked over to Geoffrey and smiled sadly. "I have told you much, and you fought beside him in three wars. He saved your life as you did his own on many occasions."

Geoffrey shook his head. "I knew the commander. I knew the fierce warrior who would claim to fight for coin but it was only a pretense to do for a cause he believed in. I knew the man who pulled me from the sucking mud when I fell from the horse. I only know of him that way."

He poured some wine from a bottle next to them and passed the goblet to Mist, allowing his fingers to touch her own for the briefest of moments. The tightness from last night returned to his chest, but he ignored it. "I want to hear about him. The man he was when there was no war to be fought. Who he really was behind the layers of plate, leather and cloth."

Mist smiled at Geoffrey, he always was respectful and when he asked few could deny him, least of all her. She held out her hand to the direwolf pup to lick, reminding herself to find a name for him later, and thought of the childish memories she had. "Hmmm, did he ever tell you that he was afraid of thunderstorms and would come time after time for me to calm him down when he was a child?"

Geoffrey laughed, "No, please enlighten me."

* * *

Marek nodded as he finished the rest of his wine and looked over to Kalidor. She passed him a few iron coins. "As a token of my appreciation for aiding me in this matter, have these." They were simple coins with one side bearing the emblem of a heron and the other a rose thorn. "I believe it is customs for nobles to be experienced in the other aspect of courtship that usually happens during the evening so that when the day of marriage comes both parties will not dissatisfy. Give any girl in the establishment one of these coins and you shall not be disappointed."

Marek took the coins with a nod, though he had no interest of using them it would be considered poor to turn down offered gifts. He rose and bowed his head as he headed down the stairs. "We will be in contact soon." He responded. "May the winds be ever at your back."

"May your foes be strong enough to keep you sharp." She responded in another traditional farewell to the Bird Tribes. Marek walked down the stairs to see Mia waiting where she was waiting when he left. Though there were a few patrons with bruised eyes near her shooting death looks at her. Marek didn't need to wonder where they got the marks.

"I will be glad to leave this place. If one more oaf asks me for a lusty and sweaty training session, I may kill someone." Mia stated as the two made their way to the exit. "So who was it?"

"A new business associate." Marek stated as they breathed in the last wisps of aromatic herbs before they returned to the real world. Judging from the passage of the sun, it was mid-afternoon and dinner would be held at sundown. They needed to make their way back to the castle, or at least away from the brothel lest an informant for someone spot them.

"What was discussed?" Mia asked as she jumped up on her horse with an instinctual ease.

"A rare opportunity." Marek responded.

"Don't play secrets with me, if I am to be your house guard I need to be able to trust you." Mia said warningly as Marek mounted his horse after untying both of them. He gave the mare a kick and the two made their way through the various districts away from the main road. That is where the lords would be, and they needed to avoid contact as much as possible.

They passed cart stalls and smithies belching coal smoke. It was a simpler place, but doubtlessly full of those who wished to hear their secrets. Bastian's doves, aristocrat's embedded spies or another shadow broker looking for a way to make a name for themselves in the world. "Who is blackmailing you? Is it fat Lady Karstark or that chauvinistic Lord Liliah?"

"No one is blackmailing me, Mia." Marek stated in an even tone as he felt his feet kick the sides of his horse to spur the horse forward.

"Yet you do not share what was discussed. Do you not trust me?" Mia asked directly hoping to stab at the heart of the argument.

"I trust you with my life, Mia. I just don't trust the ears around us." He gestured to the smallfolk around them. It was a half-truth, he didn't trust her ears as well. His life was one thing, something she would directly be responsible for. His secrets, now that was another matter all in its own. Secrets could be shared directly with someone she was reporting to, a feeling he could not shake. They could also be extracted from her by torture or by a play of words and a slip of the tongue.

"I hope then that will be worth something. If we are going to keep this bodyguard-lord relationship, I need to know we can trust each other entirely." Mia responded and Marek nodded. They continued in quiet for the rest of the journey back to the palace. Marek knew he had to change clothes so the smell would not give away that he was at a temple to carnal pleasure, then he had dinner to attend to. Come the morn he would go to the Halls of Tellius and begin the debates with the lords.

He sighed as he thought of the words Kalidor told him. He needed to visit the archives to confirm her claims later tonight as well as drafting up some talking points for tomorrow. He would be assisted by his wardens and the King and Queen would play the role as moderator between the gathered. Geoffrey and Lucia were the best he could ever ask for to defend him, but he still could not feel calm about it all.

It was a feeling that was doubled when he spied the jade and bleached banners of Hillgarden, with 'Lord' Erebus at the head of the precession.


	7. Chapter 7

The doors to the castle library was shut quietly behind Marek, who quickly shed his green embroidered cloak he had worn for dinner. It was a chore to get through, not the food of course with Oscar leading the cooks. The man could give food poison to someone and it would still be the best meal the man ever ate.

No, it was sitting in a room full of lords shooting daggers at him for having a seat of honor right next to not one but two queens. They couldn't believe it, a traitor's brother was sitting next to royalty and they were far from her? Were it not for the stern looks Elincia could throw back at them, words would have been thrown. So as they ate the bacon wrapped trout, forked down salads with fennel and lemon grass, and devoured berry pomegranate tarts, there was little conversation to be had for anyone. The weight of having hundreds of eyes upon him made Marek feel tired.

The first day of his trial was tomorrow. Sure it wasn't officially called a trial, but it was practically one. The hundreds of lords, ladies, and other peers of the realm would debate if he was worthy to become the Overlord of the North. His ancestral home was not the question, he was the son of Sicarius and through his veins ran the blood of fifteen generations of lords. But could he be worthy of being given the title of First Amongst Equals?

He sat down on a bench next to a crackling hearth, a jug of wine and two goblets upon the table. He had some reading to do tonight, to confirm a few suspicions but he also wanted to get well and truly drunk tonight. If he tried to anytime in the upcoming days, he would find it used as fodder against him. A drunken lord who was too fat to sit on a horse was alright, but him, oh that was a crime worse than murder!

He looked through the piles of books he had in front of him. They were a collection of census books, death records from the same years, a collection of legal codex stretching back two hundred years, and other lighter books that were tales of legends from the era of Altina. He cracked open a census book and flipped it to a page. "Johore Dunstan… Years of Age: 76… Cat Laguz of spotted brown fur… Occupation: Mason and Carpenter. Living on House Renol- no not a match. Tomman Dwyer… Years of Age: 35… Grey Wolf Laguz… Occupation: Trapper... hold on." Marek looked over to a long scroll he had open and checked a few notes he had written. He looked at what he had Witten then moved back to the census record. "Living on House Titus lands, in answer to House Morelle, who answer to Overlord… another match."

He did a total of what he had. He had fifty-five names, and they were all leading back to the same people. He looked to another book, a geography book with a detailed map of Crimea. Marek felt a smile cross his lips for a brief moment. He drank some from his glass of wine, then continued to ponder the information.

He heard footsteps as he looked through the ponderous tome, and allowed his eyes to look upward. He saw a simple dress, the embroidery was excellent on the red and white dyed silk and as his eyes rose, and his suspicions of who it was became confirmed. "Your majesty." Marek stated and he completely diverted his attention from the book.

Micaiah, to her credit, gestured for him to stay seated as she sat down across from him. Marek poured her a goblet of wine and slid it over to her. "Please, we are alone. I don't need to hear those words every time." She took the goblet of wine and brought it to her lips, drinking a little of it before putting it down. "I don't think I know that vintage. Is it a recent year?"

"Cottonwood vineyards I believe, casketed three years ago." It was a dry tannic wine, dark as fresh blood and the aroma of concentrated lamp oil. "What brings you to the library at this hour? I thought you would with Elincia or Sothe if not your own guards."

"I feel the need to immerse myself in literature. Daein has plenty of libraries, though most of them are filled with works about the art of war and heroes who are nothing but dust. Crimea has been known as a beacon of academia and wizardry. What are you reading?" She bent over and looked at the cover of the book. " _Records of the 21_ _st_ _census of Crimea, physical characteristics and occupations._ A dull read if there ever was one."

"Perhaps, but it does have information that I have been looking for." Marek said, and returned to his reading. He heard the queen humming as she looked at the other books Marek had on the table. He tried to ignore it. He looked for familiar names and characteristics from the other books he had read, finding a pattern and it was leading back to the same name, or a vassal of the individual in question. He then reached over for a book of laws, opening to a bookmarked page.

A few more bars of the song were hummed and it registered what song she was humming. "Where did you hear that song?" He asked, his attention fully away from books now and utterly upon the queen. She looked at him with surprise. It was a simple song, what was the problem with it?

"I heard from a minstrel on the way to Melior. The tune was very memorable, it got stuck in my head and I have found myself humming it every now and again." She responded and drank some more of her wine.

"Did he sing it or just played it on his instrument?" Marek poured some more wine into both of their glasses and adjusted his posture as he felt his back cramp up from looking down at the books.

"It was a hauntingly beautiful tune he played on a lyre. Some patrons of the tavern were singing but I couldn't understand the words. Do you not like the song?" She asked inquisitively and instantly regretted asking when she saw the look of discomfort in the edges of his eyes.

Marek pushed the books aside and drank his entire goblet of wine. "It is called _Fires from Felirae_. It details my brother's rebellion, exaggerated in places and understated in others. It was originally written to celebrate the aversion of a Crimean civil war. Nowadays it is used as a way to mock me openly. Ludveck was my brother and though we share blood we are different, but to many of the other lords I am just a copy who is going to betray them one day or another."

Micaiah nodded. "I read all I could about the rebellion, and I thought it told me everything I needed to know about you. When I sent the letter to Elincia asking to be here, she spoke… highly of you as if you were her own son. I had my doubts, but you treated me with respect and cool courtesy, even when I intentionally treated you with disrespect. I was wrong."

Marek gave a half sided smile. "There is nothing to forgive. But I can see that you have another question that is weighing you down. You would ask it but are afraid of offending me. Please, I value honesty and plainness in speech."

Micaiah bit her bottom lip and drank some more wine to let the words come from her mouth. "There was the siege of your castle, during your brother's rebellion. Many individuals would have ran and left the castle, but you remained. Why is that?"

"It was my home. If I ran, I would have looked as if I had something to hide." Marek spoke but instantly he knew Micaiah saw through the half-truth.

"No, there was another reason. You stayed through a siege." She looked into his eyes, and Marek tried to avoid the sharp amber. He felt her soft hands hold his own. "You are ashamed to speak of this. I will not part what you said to anyone. I knew it was a hard subject to ask and I apologize."

"It is, but I brought it upon myself for asking your plain opinion." Marek composed himself. He had not told anyone of this, no one could hear it. It was a secret he would take to the grave, but Micaiah was a foreign queen. She could not speak this to anyone and it could easily be dismissed as slander if she did. "I stayed behind because it was my duty to do so. It was my hardest decision, was I loyal to my oath or my blood. The price of defiance is well known: the headsmen block, the noose, the wild dogs, or often all three at the same time. Elincia's rule was right and just by every law of the land, but there are deeper and older laws then the kingdoms or the stones that make our palaces."

"You chose to defy the queen after all your brother did to other as well as you?" Micaiah asked, but there was no judgement in her voice. A little shock, of course, but no condemnation.

"Tell me, do you have any siblings by blood?" Marek asked as he poured more wine.

"Yes, a younger sister." Micaiah responded, and Marek decided not to ask for more information.

"If you did something, would you expect her to follow you regardless of the consequences?"

Micaiah thought for a moment, but shook her head. "No, she is her own individual who will make her own choices."

"Then you cannot understand. In Crimea, especially in the unforgiving winters, family is the only bond we have to count on for survival." He reached over to the tome of laws and held it up for dramatic effect. "This may judge our actions, but what judged our souls is the Old Laws. Laws that stood before the Flood. The younger siblings will bow to the elder. Ludveck was more of a father figure to me then my actual father was, the Mad King saw to that. He raised me, taught me, and protected me from all foes imaginary or real. He made his decision and I had to make my choice."

He drank from his glass as he placed the book down. "Traitor and oathbreaker I could live with for a short while. But kinslayer, that I could not do. Make no mistake, if I handed over my castle without a fight it would be kinslaying as Geoffrey could have killed my brother then and there because I allowed it. When my brother left, it was the last time we saw each other. Shortly after, the Crimean royal knights came and besieged the castle. The defenses were left to some retainer, Tashoria. He was a simpleton who hung onto honeyed words, regardless of who was speaking him. He died in the opening salvo of arrows that was when I made my choice. It was my home, and I had to defend my brother."

"But at the end of the day, it was a decoy. You knew that didn't you?"

"I did. But I couldn't care. It was my home, I grew up in that castle. I also believed that even if I surrendered the castle, the things my brother had done… Geoffrey would wet his blade on my blood and that of my siblings to make Ludveck feel the same pain he did before he killed him. I didn't think of any other way it would be settled, so using what little knowledge I had of tactics, I took command."

There was silence, their breathing could not be heard as Marek gathered himself and his thoughts. "I dressed in robes to hide my identity from others. So they would not know who I was and take me seriously. 'Ladders on the left wall, get over there!' 'Get the civilians out of the way! They are here for us, not them!' 'Barricade the gate, hold the line!' Heh, looking back on it I was just getting lucky. I didn't know how to survive a siege if it protracted, and Geoffrey had no intention of waiting. Can't say I blamed him."

Marek sighed and fiddled with his fingers nervously. "Yes, I willingly betrayed my queen and supported my power-hungry brother but I could not find a reason beyond saving my own skin not to do what I did. I made Geoffrey fight for every inch, I was so wrapped up in the chaos I couldn't think straight. Maybe if I noticed that diversion or responded faster…" He sighed and finished the last of his goblet.

"That was when Geoffrey broke through your defenses, right?" Micaiah asked. She felt a flare of disgust at Marek, but realized that she had no room to judge. She had followed a false king, committed things because she was blind to her loyalty of Daein's ruler as Marek stood firm next to his brother. Both of them did things they regretted for what they thought was the right reason. Pelleas told her to make war to defend their oppressor, she followed. Until the awakening, she thought that they were in the right. She had been blind before, more so than Marek ever was. His mistake didn't lead to near extinction.

"I knew the battle was lost when the gates were breached and the remaining survivors out of the sixty-four hardened veterans were encircled. If they resisted, it would not be a battle any more, it would have become a slaughter. Much to my shame, rather than staying out there and be with the men, I slipped into the fort. I tossed the robes aside and found my little brothers. They were hiding under the beds, I can still see the fear in their eyes. They asked me if everything was going to be alright, I didn't say anything. I had done all I could for the castle, but I could still protect them."

"We ran through the castle, avoiding areas where we heard footsteps. I had to get them away. My life was nothing compared to them, if they could live then it would be worth laying down my own life to save their own. We ended up in the throne room, there was a crawl space they could use to get out and hide at a hunting lodge. We didn't get that far. The doors swung open and there were these five knights covered in blood. In the light of the torches, they looked like demons. I drew the sword I had at my side and swung."

Marek laughed, though he could not hide the emotion he was trying to dispel from his thoughts. "I knew I couldn't take them all, let alone one of them but maybe I could buy my siblings enough time to get away. It was a clumsy swing, no practice put into it. The blade was caught by the man in the blue armor, and I looked up into his eyes. I saw sympathy and mercy in those ice chips, then I saw that he wore no gauntlets and blood was trickling down the blade. I felt everything leave me, all of my restraints, all of my anger, I felt nothing as I fell to the floor a crying wreck. Geoffrey tossed my sword aside and gave me his shoulder to cry on. Two other knights, Astrid and Marcia, went to my brothers and made sure that they were alright. They were concerned with us, brothers to a criminal, more than their own wounds."

Marek wiped the moisture away from the edges of his eyes as he looked at Micaiah. "I am not proud of what I did, but if I wasn't there for my brothers, I don't know if they would have been safe from those inside the castle who pretended to be my brother's followers. Even if Ludveck did succeed in his errand, they could use us as chips so they could get a bigger slice of the pie, so to say."

"Did you tell Geoffrey or Elincia about why you did it?"

Marek shook his head. "No, I didn't and why should I? It is in the past, and their story of events fit perfectly. Let the sleeping wolf lie, lest you wake it and incur its wrath. Let the bygones be bygones."

"You bared yourself before me, telling something that I could just as easily walk off to Elincia and speak to her about this. Why?" Micaiah asked as she drank some more from her wine glass. She could feel the heat flush her face.

"Because no one trusts a word you say." He laughed at the bad joke, something he did when he became truly intoxicated. "No, in all seriousness I guess I just needed to tell someone. Knowing that someone else knows takes a weight off my shoulders. If that makes any sense."

* * *

"Stop, get over here." Lucia commanded and the five children stopped running around with pillows in hand and came before the motherly figure. "Now, give me a good smile." Paris, Manaus, Severus, Lotz and Selena smiled wide to show that they had bushed their teeth. Lucia looked good, and gently ruffled their hair. "Take a pinch of wintergreen and get ready for bed, I will be there to read a bedtime story soon."

The children took a sprinting run to the bedrooms they shared, close to if not connecting to where their parents slept. Lucia smiled at the simple innocence of the children and looked through the bookshelf for a story to read to them. Which one would it be tonight? Would it be a mythical tale, or one of a great hero who exemplified the honorable code anyone could have? She spied the book of Ivan the Lawgiver, a knight of Daein who came to Crimea who took on five hundred squires, teaching each of them the Six Edicts and forming the core of the Royal Knights.

She then saw another book, The Trials of Moriah the Agile, a hawk laguz story put to pen for the first time. No, they would love to hear about The Little Lion and the Old Sellsword. Maybe the saga of The Last Dragonrider? So many to choose from.

She heard a knock on the door, and she looked over to it. "Please come in." Lucia said and the door opened after a moment. In stepped Mia, her armor traded in for the place of a tunic and trousers for the evening. "Ah, Mia. What brings you in at this hour? Have something to say?"

Mia did want to tell Lucia where she and Marek went today. There was nothing inherently wrong or illegal visiting a brothel, though it might be amusing to tell Marek's psudo-mother where he went today to watch her explode at him for looking at a whore who looked like her. Oh, the schadenfreude at the thought. Though she needed Marek to trust her just as much as she needed to trust him. She did have other information for Lucia. "I do. I spoke to Bastian today, lying that you weren't feeling well so I could get exactly what I needed. He said that some of his doves are singing strange songs across the continent."

Lucia felt her brow crease in thought. "About the flayed ones?" She spoke in a whisper, just on the off chance the children were listening to her.

Mia shook her head. "They seem to have vanished for the moment, but new songs are replacing them. Though those in Daein say they saw a new individual rise to challenge the Commander of the White Rangers. An individual unknown to any of them, though the brief sightings of this individual suggest he is Crimean with cloak whiter than the barks of the trees."

"An odd song, but the Rangers lack the logistics to become a threat beyond Daein. We could mention this information during negotiations to further this international training program Elincia keeps pushing for." Lucia said with a hand under her chin in thought. "Any other tunes?"

"Begnion has been quite as usual, but there has been a rumor of a familiar face coming back from the dead. Some have said they saw Sephiran amongst the hospitals healing survivors from ration riots, and disappearing before authorities could confirm his presence." Mia stated. "I thought we killed him at the Tower."

"So did I, I was there. I saw him as Ike drove Ragnell through his chest, no one could survive that and it looked like he bled out. This is probably just someone who looks very familiar doing good deeds. If the doves can get a hold of him, tell Bastian to send him some exotic fruits in appreciation." Lucia said with a chuckle at the thought of it.

"Nothing major from Gallia or the Isles, same on the home front though I imagine there you would know more about that then I will." Mia stated as she looked at the bookshelf, and spied her favorite book. "Ah, the story of the mysterious sword maiden Agatha Ravenstorm! That one was always my favorite growing up when the caravan read it to me!"

Lucia then decided that the matter was settled and pulled the book from the shelf. "Well, then I guess we will read it together to them." The two friends went into the children's bedroom, letting the worries of tomorrow and abroad fade from their memories to tell the children a story.

They neglected to notice an individual clad in black leather with a red bandanna standing in the corner away from the hearth, remembering everything they said to report to his master.

* * *

The hearth was just about ready to die and the large jug of wine was almost empty. Marek's head felt light and heavy at the same time, wishing he had done this with some lighter wine or perhaps some small beer. Micaiah, despite her frame, seemed practically unfazed by the wine. "It is almost the hour of the wolf, you had best head to bed for the big day tomorrow." Micaiah stated. Marek nodded and placed aside the books. He hid the scroll he had been writing on in his tunic, and placed the drinking vessels on a tray to have the servants take it away in the morning. He tossed the last of the wine on the few flames on the hearth, extinguishing it.

Marek opened the door and let Micaiah out first. She gave him a pat on the back, a symbol of thanks for opening up to him as well as a reassurance that his secret would be safe with her, and the two headed off to their rooms. Marek felt completely drunk, content, and happy. He opened the door with a few tries, and kicked off his booths clumsily. He fell down face first in the bed, and before he knew it darkness claimed him. He hoped that it would last until the morning if the Goddess was good.

As usual, she wasn't. Then the dream he had dreamed a thousand times came back to him, with feverish intensity.


	8. Chapter 8

Marek opened the doors to the court yard and breathed in the cold morning fog. There was little light but it was enough to illuminate everything is a faded white that gave the outlines to things in the distance. He adjusted his fine clothes, tightening his furred cloak to ward off the cold, and moved forward down the cobblestones. He had to pay a visit to his brother again. It was still the early morning, well before breakfast, plenty of time before his trial would begin.

The dream happened again, but it was very different as opposed to the other times Marek dreamed it. Marek had been walking the final thirteen steps with an unknown figure awaiting him as his brother fought against the crowd to save him. Marek placed his head down on the block and awaited the sword to swing down to claim it. It never came as he woke up before that fateful moment.

He never dreamed that before, not even when he got absolutely drunk before.

He came to the gallows and noticed that it had been cleaned. Granted there was still the stained block but the rest of the gallows had been cleaned overnight. Marek walked up the steps and noticed that the squeak of weak support was gone and if felt as if he was walking on carved stone. Someone was going to die today, he thought as he reached the top and looked around. Why else would it have been cleaned when it was still bloodied when the visiting guests arrived?

He noted the trapdoor underneath him and the lever to pull it along with the five hooks about his head twisted into the stone roof above it. He felt a scowl cross his lips for a moment before walking away from them as if they were bad luck. He turned his eyes to the headsmen block and let out a sigh into the morning fog. "Ludveck, are you there?" He asked the wind, he hoped that he saw something or heard something resembling a confirmation as he sat down next to the block with his hands folded and under his chin. "I truly am alone, aren't I?"

Still no response, so he continued to talk out into the ether. "We parted in anger, you and I. You were set in your ways and I was set against you, but in the end I liked to think I gave you a few more moments of life." He sighed as a few rays of sun broke through the fog, and he spoke some more. "Whatever happened between us, you were still my brother in the end. As much as I hated the man you became, you were always there for me. Now, I wish you were here."

Marek knew he was just talking out loud to himself, but it still felt comforting to feel as if there was someone next to him. "Brother, you know I never wanted to rule. I remember you trying to teach me about governorship, with very little success. I took up on the terms and practices, but you knew that it wouldn't stick with me. I would have been content serving in your personal guard, or becoming a learned scholar to establish a university where all could come and learn. I would have just been happy with those."

"Yet here I am, on the brink of becoming a lord and perhaps even Overlord if the other peers of the realm would be so inclined. Yet all of these things are but ashes in my mouth." He paused as the sun began to expel some more of the fog. It wasn't any message from beyond, just the world turning. "I know that others, even those you fought against and wronged, miss you. You were the pillar that crumbled on its own accord, but a pillar of Crimean society. Lucia stated that she remembers her days training under our father with you very fondly. You never did tell me about that week, and she doesn't answer when I ask."

"Manaus and Severus still ask for you every day, and I want to tell them the truth. Hells, I don't even know what really happened to you. All signs point to this block, but I can't say for certain. If you are alive, in exile somewhere or in the White Forest, stay alive for my sake. I would like to find you one of these days so I can get some closure. If not, well, I guess we will see each other once again in the next life."

Marek got to his feet and walked down the stairs. "Though hopefully not anytime soon, I enjoy living." He headed back to door, his mind already ahead of him for breakfast, the trial, and then there was supposed to be a football game between the local demes, with some other feats of strength between the two nations. The two major demes of the city were bitter rivals, and regardless who won, there would be drinking and disorder in the streets tonight. Though if there was to be an execution today, that might change plans.

"Sorry sir, I am afraid only nobility will be able to visit the castle for the foreseeable future." Marek overheard one guard say at the front. He didn't recognize the voice immediately, but turned to face it. Through the fog he saw the two plated guards conversing with two other individuals. One was a grown man and the other was a child or dwarf by the size of it. He moved closer and he heard the taller one speak with a very distinct northern accent. "And as I stated, that is why we are here. We are here because their majesty's summoned us. Must we be kept waiting until she speaks those words in your ear?"

"I doubt she summoned a child and a blind traveler." The other spoke. Before any more words were said, Marek stepped into the conversation. "Oh, apologies for disturbing you sir. There is noth-"

"I will be the judge of that." Marek stated calmly and walked past the two guards and examined the individuals. They had just came in from outside the city, their traveler's cloaks covered in mud. The blind man was tall, even taller than Marek by a good few inches and carried himself straight with a walking stick. Under the robes Marek eyed threadbare noble tabard with a barely visible emblem on the clothes. Despite his white pupils lacking the ability to see, Marek found them looking into his.

The child must have been no more than a decade old, if that at all. He was of average height, but his build was surprising. Even with the cloak concealing every part of his body except his head, which was covered in greased mint green and piercing ochre eyes, Marek could see the strength that pulsated thought he body of this child. He smelled charcoal, like this boy had been living in a forge since he was old enough to hold a hammer.

"Your sword, sir." Marek said with outstretched hands and the blind man unhooked the sword from his side and handed the scabbard blade to Marek. Marek took it and felt the weight in the blade was leaning to the front, confirming his initial suspicions. He unsheathed the blade a hair, noticing the forged crucible steel and runes carved into the blade, green in color. There was little point at the tip of the blade, it was a caring weapon designed for lopping off limbs. "Your words?"

The blind man responded in an instant, and much to the shock of the guards. "Our words are 'We Guard the Rivers'. Common saying often confused with our words is 'Ready Your Final Words.' As the family often seen as the royal executioner, it is a forgivable mistake."

Marek nodded and handed the sword back with a slight bow. "I welcome you then, Lord Caliban Rickard. Forgive the guards' surprise, we thought your line extinguished since the end of the Mad King War."

"Please, think nothing of it. I would be surprised as well if someone disappeared for what has it been, goddess three years now?" Caliban stated as the guards parted and the three moved into the court yard. "I hear much has changed since I last walked the beaten roads. Though I have returned to claim my land once again."

"If you do not mind me asking, where were you?" Marek stated as the three walked around the courtyard. "And this child, he is far too old to be your own. Who is he?"

"Oh, I have been here, there and just about everywhere." Marek said with a whimsical laugh he was known for. "I have spent most of that time in seclusion, meditating and learning my place after I lost my sight. The details are another story for another time."

It was the child who spoke next. "My name is Tywin Twinmoons." The boy said with a little shame in those words.

"Ah, I my personal guard is a Twinmoons. She is a very capable fighter and the last name means nothing to her. I think I will have to introduce her to you." Marek said as he gave the boy a reassuring smile. The boy seemed to relax. "Why are you here? It is not common to see children accompany lords."

"I was raised in the swamplands, down in the south, by a blacksmith. He said he found me at the edge of an alligator infested lake as a newborn infant. He taught me the craft as best he could." Tywin smiled with pride.

Caliban chuckled. "Indeed, well I was traveling the main road when I must have gotten separated in a storm. I was lost and this boy said he would show me the way. When I told him I was heading to the royal capital, the lad's adopted father said it would be a good chance to seek an apprenticeship there so he could go back and teach him. So we then road for several days, sleeping on the side of the road, fishing for our dinner and having a bit of a good time with it."

Marek nodded. "Well, I imagine the queen would be very pleased to see you again, though you should have a bath and a fresh change of clothes first. Both of you. You smell like a stable that lacks a reliable keeper. I will tell the guards to prepare a room and bring breakfast to the chambers along with two tubs with hot water. When you are finished, I believe that the Queen should know of your presence personally. I'll take Tywin to an individual I think that will take him under his wing, literally."

* * *

"Goddess, not too tight! I can barely breathe in this damnable thing as it is." Elincia swore while the handmaiden quickly mumbled an apology and untightened the corset of whale bone. "Forget the thing, fetch me some wraps and the blue and white dress." The lady nodded and passed Elincia the chest wraps as she ran to get the dress. Elincia poured herself a goblet of water and quickly fastened her gest wraps so that she could fit into this dress that was her husband's favorite as well as a few other lords. She would have worn her usual orange and tan, or her armor but this was a special occasion and there was no war to fight.

She heard a knock on the door. "Milady, a lord wishes to speak with you."

"Have I made it clear that I am to see nobody until we gather in the Hall?" She said back to the guard, and she heard a few whispered voices on the other end, obviously the lord arguing with the guard.

"Aye, but he is quite insistent." The guard responded. Elincia placed a robe around her frame and sighed. She looked out the window and drank some of the cold spring water.

"Very well, send him in." The door opened and she had prepared a chastising remark for the impatient lord. She expected him to be a young upstart who wanted to try to impose his will upon the young queen.

When she turned around, she promptly felt that complaint die upon her lips. The lord was tall, strong framed and snow white eyes looked aimlessly at her general direction. He wore simple, yet elegant clothes and a faded tabard showing his family heraldry. She recognized it instantly and looked into those white eyes and remembered the piercing jade shards that she remembered from years past. "Caliban?! Lord Caliban?!"

Caliban chuckled. "Calm down, my lady. You sound as if you had seen a ghost." He tapped around with his walking staff and found the edge of the bed, which he sat down and let out a sigh of relief. "It warms my soul to know you are still sitting on the throne."

"I… I… I don't know what to say." Elincia said with shock still lacing her voice. She drank the rest of her water, the cold cutting her senses like a knife. "Last time I saw you, you were full of gloom yet still defending me from the other nobles. Then you vanished… no warning, it seemed you just dropped off the edge of the world. Where have you been and did it cause you to become…"

"Blind? Yes and no." Caliban's smile slowly shrank to a flat line. "As you know when I took over my house when the rest of my line died in the Mad King war, I tried to be the best lord and royal headsmen I could for you. However my duty weighed on me, so much so that I have often considered throwing myself from the battlements of the castle just to find some semblance of peace."

"But thank heavens you didn't. Where did you go then?" Elincia said as the handmaiden returned with her dress. Elincia motioned for the dress to be placed down on the bed and that they would be left alone.

"South, in the Begnion Mountains. I needed to be alone, find myself and my reason in this life. I thought that living a rugged life surrounded by the majesty of the holy land would fix that. Ironically, it worked, though I didn't find the peace I wanted." He shook his head and he looked like a million pounds of weight were planted on his shoulders. "I… did somethings that I am not proud of doing."

Elincia sat down next to Caliban, a lord that she remembered fondly for his personality and devoted spirit, who now seemed like a hollow man who had been to the depths of the nine hells. "What happened?"

"Nothing you would believe, trust me on that. I stumbled and fell, hard. I took responsibility for what happened, and this was one of the things I did to correct that." He gestured to his eyes, and Elincia saw the white of the pupils was not from degeneration, but scar tissue. "It is nothing to restore what I did, so I decided to stay in self-emposed exile, hoping to find at least inner peace."

Elincia shook her head. "You always hated it when I beat myself up for shortcomings, yet you tried to pluck your eyes out for your own. I don't know what happened and I can't judge you for what you did or didn't do. But why, after wounding yourself, did you decide to come back?"

"The world is changing, Elincia. Not just politically with the unification of two kingdoms, but things are evolving all over. The Flayed Ones awaken once again from their ages of slumber, bad omens whisper o the winds from beyond the mountain walls in the east, and some are reporting unusual eldritch singularities thought impossible mere years before." Caliban stated and passed his staff back and forth in between his hands. "There is little I can do as a recluse in the backwoods to stop it, but I can make a difference here. I abandoned you to the boar when you needed allies, and then there was that debacle with Begnion and Daein which should have spurned me back. I only hope in the days to come I can make amends for everything I have done."

Elincia shook her head. "I cannot speak for others, but you have done nothing to wrong me. Maybe you can find the redemption you seek here, but you came at a time when Crimea is unified ut still sharply divided."

"Aye, it seemed that way when I came in with the talk of a hundred lords squabbling over their piece of land. It seems that this day's events will not be about Marek or if he deserves the title of his ancestors. It looks like it will be used as an excuse to revive old fights with each other." Caliban stated before rising, and quietly mumbled to himself. "Mortal nature will continue to cause nothing but strife. I learned that lesson the hard way."

"We will have to catch up later, though I will make sure that the master of scrolls knows you will be added to the list. We are gathering in the Hall of Tellius, I am sure you will be able to find a seat." Elincia said as she rose to open the door for Caliban, who dug around in his vest to find a piece of parchment sealed with black wax.

"Of course. Before I forget, a southern blacksmith wanted me to give this to you. I guess I will see you at the trial, my lady." He handed her the piece of paper and headed out the door, gently tapping his walking staff all the way. Elincia breathed a small prayer of thanks to the goddess that Caliban was indeed blind, otherwise he would have seen the look of shock on her face as clear as the day.

She rushed over to the dying embers of the fireplace and opened up the letter with such a fury the wax seal popped off to the ground. She recognized the hand writing almost instantaneously. She read the note slowly and each word brought a grip of cold to her heart and it tightened greater than any fist. _Not here, not now_ she whispered in her head. She crumpled up the note and tossed it on the embers, watching it burn and wiped away a line of moisture that formed on the edge of her eyes.

Tibarn came into the room, dressed as well as he had when he greeted Micaiah yesterday. "If there is one thing I will never understand about Beorc culture, it is the reason to dress up like a blasted peacock every other time. At this rate I… Little rabbit, is everything alright?"

Elincia knew that her husband could read her emotions well, but he had a difficult time telling her lies from truth. It was a strength Elincia used often as she could remember the stories she told very well, but it weighed down her conscious every time she did. "No. It was news from Rhys at the retreat. Apparently the Plague of Comstock has struck a nearby village, or what it appears to be. I pray it isn't."

Tibarn nodded solemnly. "Damned thing, it struck Pheonicis fifty years ago and claimed my father along with one eighth of our population in three fortnights to insanity and necrosis. Still, Rhys is an accomplished alchemist and healer. If anyone can contain it, he should. I will make sure some funds will be sent to help."

Elincia nodded. "I'll make the arrangements tonight. If you will excuse me, I need to put on this dress and I need you to accompany to the pack of jackals that await all of us." Tibarn nodded and Elincia rushed off to a side room to put her dress and shoes on.

She was focused on that she didn't notice her husband picking up the black wax seal off the ground.

* * *

"Hrm, show me your hands. Ah, yes. There is the callous I was looking for. These hands were made for making metal sing." Jeon, the hawk blade smith, said approvingly as he looked Tywin up and down. "Tell me lad, what was the greatest thing you made on your own with minimal help from your adopted father?"

"On my own, I forged machete blades to clear growths from the wetlands. With the aid of Vulcan, a silver battle axe." Tywin responded, and Marek stood behind them. "Most of the time it was things we needed for the villages. Horseshoes, nails, tools, or fixing broken metal."

"You are from the rural country, I expected nothing else. You know how to work metal, and if you can show me your trade, I will know where I can start with you." Jeon stood up and ruffled the hair of Tywin, who beamed with a smile. "I have a blank for a steel dagger in the shop, the closest forge to the entrance. Take a hammer and show me your talent to refine it."

The lad ran to the shop and Marek felt a chuckle escape his lips. "Normally, I would not take an apprentice," Jeon stated to Marek as he adjusted his leather apron as the tools clanked together, "but you were right. The boy looks as if he knows his craft."

"I thought you would take a liking to him. Though that wasn't the only reason I came to visit you. You said that there was progress to be had with the blade I requested." Marek stated and Jeon nodded as he unwrapped some cloth he was carrying with him. Marek saw the shape, nodded with a hint of approval and picked it up.

"Take a look at her, is she not beautiful?" Jeon asked as Marek held the blade in his hands. Well, not exactly a blade yet, it was refined to a shape, beveled and tempered. It needed to be etched in acid, carved with runes, sharpened, polished, and then the hilt and guard attached. But even without all of that, Marek felt his breath escape his lungs as he marveled the blade. Indeed it was a beauty.

Crucible steel was often referred to a castle steel, as often only those who worked in a castle or had noble patronage had the materials to make it. It was seen as a product of magic, when it was just simple metallurgy. Cast iron was mixed with pure iron, heated in a clay crucible sealed from top to bottom, drawing out the impurities leaving a perfect steel that with the right talent and patience could create swords that were powerful enough to rival magically enchanted blades. Marek did notice something odd about this blade. "It seems darker than usual blades of this type."

"Ah, yes. As I was gathering the needed ores to forge it, I noticed a package left for me by an anonymous party. I opened the paper package and saw slivers of pure meteoric iron." Jeon stated with an almost childlike enthusiasm. Marek could understand clearly, heaven fallen iron was renowned for its dark pattern, and it was rumored that the Black Knight and Mad King wore suits entirely made of meteoric iron. It was worth its weight in gold, and held its edge.

"I cannot wait to see what it looks like upon completion. The scabbard I leave to your creation, though I would prefer this blade to hold minimal ornamentation. It must be utilitarian in its appearance as it will be in its use." Marek stated and he handed the blade back to Jeon. The blacksmith took it with a nod and turned around to head back into the armory to continue his work. Marek was well away from the door to the armory, and he could feel the heat that permeated the room along with the smells of honest labor.

"I have been looking all over for you." Geoffrey spoke from behind him. Marek turned around to see him and Lucia standing dressed in the finest clothes they had. "Visiting the blacksmith again, checking on the weapon?"

"Indeed. With any luck it will be done soon." Marek took in a deep breath of air. "No point delaying it I guess."

"No, there isn't." Lucia responded, and motioned for Marek to follow them. "All of the lords and ladies of the realm are assembling in the Hall of Tellius. It will last until the sun is at its apex, then there will be a break until midafternoon. It will resume thereafter until sundown. This will continue until a near unanimous decision has been reached." She stated it in a very formal tone, protocol required Marek be aware of the events of the day.

He knew what was to happen, and that the debate like this has happened only three times in Crimea's two hundred plus years of history, so the rules were intentionally vague. When someone spoke to the nominated, the two could converse with the help of their aids. Lords and Ladies could address their peers at any moment, though usually shouting matches resolved most of those. The King and Queen were little more than observers, calling order every once in a long while.

Insults were legendary at these events, and on the first summoning no fewer than three deaths occurred in fights between nobles. Marek had a sneaking suspicion that this wouldn't be much different from that event.

They reached the main hall, and the white marble lined with carpet led them to the great bronze doors that would bid them entrance to the Hall of Tellius. The three stopped and Marek tried to gather himself. He wouldn't have to speak an opening statement, Lucia took that responsibility for herself. Still, he was concerned for Geoffrey and Lucia for taking this burden with him. If they were found wanting, their names would be tarnished.

He felt his soul sink into the black for a moment, but he felt Geoffrey's reassuring hand clasp his shoulder tightly. He looked over and saw the simple smiles the Knight Commander was known for. He didn't say anything, but that look was the thing Marek needed to take the steps to the bronze doors.


	9. Chapter 9

The Hall of Tellius was an architectural marvel, unparalleled in the craftsmanship in Crimea and on par with the venerable castles of Begnion and Daein. It was tall, and large enough that an entire regiment of knights could stand in at attention and still have plenty of space to spare. Now, instead of decorated knights defending the realm sat hundreds of petty lords, most in titles and attitude.

The room fell silent as they entered the room. Their footsteps echoed as they walked slowly down the center. Marek tried to keep looking straight ahead, where the royal families were sitting. Yet he could not help that his eyes were looking all over the place, gauging the looks from the other nobles. He didn't recognize many faces but saw a few in the immediate area.

They reached a large table, three hairs with stacks of papers, scrolls and books, waiting for them. Marek took in a deep, silent breath and took his seat. Elincia then clapped her hands together and the guards closed the doors. The room became momentarily loud as the lords adjusted themselves in their seats. After waiting a few moments to let everyone to become more comfortable, Lucia rose from her seat to give an opening speech.

Normally this would have Marek give it, but Lucia was a better speaker. She also could use her personal angle to this circumstance to their advantage. If comments about his brother would be brought up, she could deflect them back to Ludveck and not Marek. She took a few steps out into the open away from the desk. No script, no notes. She had practiced this many times.

"Your majesties, lords and ladies of the realm and other guests, I thank you for coming here today." Lucia stated in a loud and proud voice. It betrayed no emotion that could be used against her, it had all of the composure of a well-seasoned solicitor. "I need not remind you why you have traveled the leagues you have, nor am I to remind you of the responsibility placed into you today."

She did a well-polished courtroom walk to transition to the next point of her speech. "For the past three years, the wounds of rebellion have begun to heal. Since that time Geoffrey and myself have held the title of Overlord temporarily until once could be appointed. Many candidates were nominated, but all have been found wanting for the responsibilities. There is only one truly viable ruler, and his family has held that position since the foundation of Crimea itself. The House of Felirae had successors in the light of the rebellion, but none were of age to rule. Marek, Severus and Manaus had no part to play in the crimes that happened that fateful week, and now I believe that it is time not only to give the title to the eldest surviving son of Sicarius the Tall."

That statement drew a twitch from Marek. If it wasn't his brother he was being compared to, it was his father. He hardly remembered the man, it was a foggy memory of an aged warrior trying to recapture the glory of his prime.

Another movement. "Marek is young, but I have seen him grow from the time he was my brother's ward from a child to a young man who will play a great part in the Pax Crimea. His brother made the wrong choice, but Marek is not his brother. I of all people should be upset, demanding vengeance for what was done to myself, my queen and my country. But Marek is not the one who did those things, blood is the only thing he shares with Ludveck. Does one burn their whole vineyard down because of a single blighted vine?"

"Marek has proven me time and time again that he is capable and ready to lead. He listens instead of yelling, he thinks before he acts, he is the first to broach compromise in a world that has long since forgotten the meaning of it. It is for the betterment of the nation we nominate him to become the Overlord of the North. Each faction will have a benefit to their cause with Marek having an equal seat at the table."

She continued to speak, Marek felt his mind drift elsewhere. Not that it was a boring speech, far from it actually, but he felt the need to find someone familiar in the crowd. He spied Erebus, the bastard, sitting with most of the other southern lords. There were a few others he recognized, and they sat in their own sections segregated by regions for the most part with the Overlord taking the higher seat. There was the bearded and already drunk wild Overlord Gorman, the peacock looking dainty Overlord Arkin, the serene Overlord Reyson with his other bird lords sitting under or in the rafters, and then the plain but stern Overlord Lady Sasha.

Familiar faces, and they were the ones that would decide his fate. He heard Lucia wrap up her speech and he came back into the world with attention. "After the events have settled, I know you will see Marek as the rightful candidate to the throne of the north. I now open up the floor to discussion."

She turned around and took her seat there was silence for a moment, before someone yelled "Traitor's wench!" Someone responded with another insult. Before long the room broke down into organized chaos. Marek looked over to Lucia with a sympathetic smile. She did all she could but both of them knew that no one would be persuaded to change by opening arguments. Some semblance of order was restored with Tibarn slamming his fist against a table. Someone then began to speak in a western accent, about how it was an affront that this even be discussed.

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

A cold wind blew outside the cabin in the forest, whistling over the stone walls. In the courtyard, five men dressed in sullied white robes struck out with training swords against each other. From the deck of the cabin, overlooking it all, a main in a stainless white cloak nodded approvingly. When he had arrived, few had had remote training with a sword, not they were becoming disciplined soldiers.

An older man, one who had seen at least seventy winters, stood next to the younger man looking at the former criminals turned wardens of the uncharted woods. He wears simple white and blue robes, betraying the position he held prior to his fallout in Begnion court. "Sir, the others have gathered."

Ludveck sighed and pushed off from the rails. "Thank you Hatzel. We had best not keep them waiting." The two individuals entered the cabin and were greeted with the warmth of a fire to dispel the cold air that blew down from the nearby mountains. There was a long table with warm hard bread and dark beer, and in the center was a map of the continent. Surrounding the table were three other figures dressed entirely in white, men of high esteem and tactical prowess in the Rangers, along with Agatha and Triton still encased in armor.

"Everyone is here, let us begin." Ludveck stated as he sat down and tore open a loaf of bread. "Argand," he asked a tall man with his face pocketed in frostbite scars, "have the other keeps replied to the summons and will send a representative to court with us?"

The man nodded but it was reluctant. "Few have answered, others have sent back our envoys without saying a word. Forts Clara, Pose, and the Cave of Ice will come in three suns, the remaining keeps balk at the suggestion."

"Hrm, to be expected." He replaced a few tokens on the map with another one.

"We have more men now then the other camps. What is stopping us from just taking the other forts?" One on the other men in white, Pylon, said with the fury of a caged animal. Even though he was seated, it seemed as if he was pacing back and forth. "We may be bonded by an order, but they are so blind to the foes on the horizon. Remove the tumor and the body heals."

"Idiots or not, they are our brothers." The final Ranger said, Ular if Ludveck remembered correctly. He was an older one, and he carried himself with the composure of a knight. "Fighting must be a last resort, if we casually use violence against our own kind, then others will not be too kind in letting us in. I say we give them one more response to at least parlay with us, then if they refuse we will make them capitulate by any means needed."

"I am inclined to agree with Ular." Agatha said as she dipped her bread in the beer. "A unified Ranger corps could pose a threat to any foe we face. I have had the misfortune of facing a few many years back. If they are as skilled as they were then, we will have quite the accomplished vanguard."

"That is the trouble." Ludveck said as he sat back down. "The order has become isolated and many are becoming the bandits they were sent to fight against. There is no training, no command structure. If we can get that in order, it will only be a matter of time before we can make our move on the stage."

"All well and good Ludveck, but answer me this. How is it that you win a war?" Triton broke his silence with the simple question.

Ludveck thought for a moment, thinking this was a trick question. He answered the best way he knew. "By having superior numbers, well trained troops and good generalship."

Triton nodded, but underneath the helmet all could feel his scowl. "True, that does help, and it certainly will win one of the smaller wars Tellius has seen in recent years. But that will only last for so long. In the long run, even the most disciplined armies with the best generals will fail without logistics."

He held up one of his fingers on his left hand. "To win a protracted war, there are three items that need to be held superior to that of you enemy. The first is production of war material: blades, armor, rations, and bandages. You need to have a way to out produce the enemy in their supplies and scavenge what you can from them. Look at our current situation. We have modest smithies and a few trained metalworkers, but nothing that will compare to the Calligans when they arrive in force. Food is found primarily through foraging, we will need a steady means of supplies and reserves especially during the winter months."

He then bent another finger upward. "Next, we need the resources to make those tools of war. Lumber, iron, and peat are in abundance here, along with what we can scavenge from bandit tribes. But we have to work with what is found in our sphere of influence. Begnion, if all of the nations pre Cimean-Bird alliance were in battle, would win because they have a greater variety and reserves of resources to draw upon. With allies you have more to draw upon."

A third finger was raised. "Finally, we need a way of transporting that material from the gathering point to the production centers, then get the finished equipment to the front lines. Logistics will win a war more often than a clever strategy or a battalion of brave soldiers with nothing to lose. We learned these lessons hard through our centuries of warfare before the Great Flood. Tactics will win you skirmishes, strategy will win you battles, but your supplies will give you victory in war."

Ludveck nodded and looked back at the map. A few of the forts weren't heeding his summons, and they were sitting on valuable supplies and production centers, especially Fort Meres which was built on a dormant volcano with vents hot enough to craft steel without the need for coal. He needed to get the White Forest in order before he acted elsewhere. Though he needed to look abroad for allies, and if the reports he was receiving from Volke were correct, there were a few people he could contact to start making the diplomatic connections.

"Hatzel, send a final message to the reluctant camps that we know of. Make it politely clear and firm that if they do not heed the summons consequences will follow. Argand, contact the caravans about another shipment of food and material. Also make mention of a possible enduring contract. Pylon, I am sending you on leave to reconnect with your underworld associates. We will need every advantage we can get in the days to come. Ular, I want you to take stock of our supplies."

The four men nodded and rose from the table, taking their horn mugs of dark stout and portions of bread to their assigned tasks. Agatha rose smoothly from her seat and picked up her staff to leave. "Anything else?" She asked in a simple tone.

"Sometime I will need you to draft a letter for me. Not in my handwriting, of course and it cannot be sent out until I hear confirmation. Though with Caliban having part in the proceedings, I trust his judge of character to do what is best for the realm and our cause." Ludveck said as Triton left them alone to go practice his sword form and teach the younger greenhorns how to be competent soldiers.

Agatha sat back down and poured herself some more dark beer. "Well, if that is the case, there is no better time than the present." She reached for some parchment and wet her quill in the light grey pigment. "Start when you are ready."

Ludveck leaned back and chewed on some more bread as he thought of his words. "To the attention of Overlord Marek of Felirae, Defender of the Norther Providences and Keeper of the Sea, from the Commander of the White Rangers."

* * *

Marek tried to look as attentive as he could but could easily feel his patience slip away. He poured himself some more wine and tried to keep the posture expected of him as a future Overlord. The conversations had been rather petty, pointless or masturbation for the ego. At least seven were speaking at the same moment, though the loudest was from the backwaters in the south. Lord Ornys of the Snakefang Hills was continuing a monologue about duty to the realm that tried to put him on a larger pedestal and boast about his achievements rather than offer any insight into the matter at hand. "Goddess in heaven, can this used windbag shut up?"

"I am inclined to agree." Geoffrey stated and held out his goblet to pour some wine. As Marek filled it, Geoffrey shook his head. "Diplomacy like this is as brutal as fighting the battlefield. Though we do get to sit down and eat while we fight." He then raised his voice considerably. "Lord Ornys, we understand the military history in your family! Could you speak of something useful, or could you remain quiet so the rest of us don't have to suffer any longer."

There was the sound of cheers and jeers from around as the flabbergasted idiot who inherited his position tried to retort. Another individual, Overlord Arkin, spoke up next. At the first indication of his tone the room fell quiet. "Indeed. We need to discuss the reason why we are here, and why this mongrel is considered for a position to rival mine. He is the brother of a traitor, and treason doesn't stop at one individual. There are more worthy individuals, even the court jester!" Laughs from the southern lord

Before Lucia could respond, Marek finished his glass of wine with one long angry drink and rose to respond to the individual. "If that is the case, Arkin, why do we still have you around? Your family has a long history of questionable loyalty to the crown."

"You accuse me of treason, child?" Arkin stated in shock, and the gaggle of peacocks next to him murmured just the same.

"Take it as you see it. Your great grandfather, Nacres, was a pivotal player in a loose collaboration with Begnion senators to annex some land. It was only discovered by my great uncle Sigismund and King Tallazar, and they led the north against you and your misbegotten ansestors. You live only now because your gutless forefather bent the knee after the battle of Broken Hills. Using your logic, should his neck have bent under the weight of a sword blade?" Marek stated and jabbed his finger at the Overlord.

"The young man speaks wisdom." One voice spoke from the edge, followed by several fists slamming to their tables in affirmation. "Such doublespeak from the supposed greatest of us!" Another voice yelled from the southern table and jeers followed this lady speaking her mind.

"You dare sully the names of my ancestors! What room do you have to speak?" The southerner demanded and the arguments began again in earnest. "Were you under my control, I would have you killed for such slander! I may be inclined to do such a thing right now."

"No. You won't." The voice was calm and cold, there was no real volume behind it, but it was enough to have the lords and ladies be silent. The speaker rose, blind Lord Caliban rising from his seat and muttering apologies to his peers as he walked behind them into the center of the hall. It was against many traditions, some even gasped as he then stood seven feet away from the table where Marek, Lucia and Geoffrey sat. "Chronicler, recite to me the crimes of Marek Damon has personally been placed on his shoulders."

The chronicler and historian who sat near the front at his own little bureau with several books, shook his head. "He has been neither accused nor convicted of any crimes, my lord."

"And yet we speak of him as if he is a seasoned villain. Tell me, what crimes have a minor lord, such as Lady Yantis of Hose Uther been leveled against?" Caliban continued and the room was filled with silence apart from the flipping of yellowed pages.

"He has been accused of several instances of disturbing the peace, profiteering during the Daein-Laguz war, along with avoidance of taxation." There were a few jeers that came from the western section as one of their colleague's dirty laundry was aired for all to see. Though there was little that could be done, it was the chronicler's job to recite the requested information as well as record the transaction of the trial.

"Now then, what of Overlord Gorman? What has he been accused of in the past?" Caliban said shortly before the mad lord began to froth at the mouth with crude insults that required two of his attendants to hold him to his seat before doing anything rash.

A few flipped pages later. "He has been accused of collaboration with the Mad King, promotion of extrajudicial executions of laguz, and numerous minor crimes too many to recount in the short span of time we have available."

Caliban nodded his thanks and looked into the crowd with long dead eyes. "Tell me then, given what you had heard, who is the one most likely to commit treason against this nation? Who is the one that will take up arms against their countrymen?"

There was a mixture of name. Some said the Overlord, others the lady, but quite a few said Marek because of his brother. Caliban laughed at it all, his voice reaching the lofty vaults. "Wrong, all of you. Each of them have the chance to forsake their oaths for their own selfish gains." He dropped his staff and in one smooth motion drew forth his sword.

The blade caught the light perfectly and as he swung it around it momentarily blinded many. He leveled the edge of his blade at the gathered lords and slowly turned around in place. The edge seemed to be looking directly at all, as if in a moment it would come at them like a wild animal and remove their necks from their shoulders. "Who are you to judge us?" shouted Overlord Lady Sasha in a demanding tone. "We are the first amongst the equals, and your house is nothing but a speck on the map. What room do you have to judge us?"

"I am the Lord Executioner of the realm, is it not my duty to look into the souls of men and level judgement against them? To judge the spirit and will of individual to see if it is virtuous or septic? Tell me, which one of you are certain that you will not face judgement under this blade's edge?"

That got a response. The whole chorus of Lords and Ladies yelled in appalled tones as Caliban as he still held the blade out. Even the Royalty was in shock. After a moment to compose herself, Lucia spoke with all the control in her voice. "Is that a threat, Lord Rickard?"

Caliban chuckled and sheathed his sword with ease. "No. It is a reminder and a promise. We are mortals, and in each of us stirs an ambitious animal that wakes when tempted. Treason is not hereditary, nor is it something that can be predicted on solely by an individual's past. Ludveck was, up until the sack of Ohma, considered the pillar of nobility and all of us were taken aback. We did not expect he would be the one to fall from grace. Unexpected and unpredictable."

He used is foot to kick up his staff back into his hands and let the carved oak dance between his fingers on one hand in a large circle. "No charges have been leveled against Marek, and if we treat him as if he was his brother we are looking for a monster that may not be there. The sharp talons of pride and arrogance can close around even the greatest of us. No one is above its temptation. Not Marek, not Lucia, not Reyson, and especially not myself. But when, not if, someone falls you can be assured that judgement will be visited upon you regardless of your standing."

He stopped twirling the staff with a sharp snap and brought it down with a crack into the stone. "To discuss treason not his own is a waste of the air we breathe. We need to look into his character and ability to lead a realm. Those are the only things we should judge, not the sins of those he shares his blood with. If you still encourage to speak of it, look inward for the phantoms you see may very well be your own."

The bells chimed at that moment, the signal that it was two in the afternoon. "I leave you with that to think about over your lunch and afternoon events." Caliban stated as he walked down the hall and out the bronze doors. For a moment, no one moved. It seemed like everyone just sat there in silence for hours but eventually others made their way out the door.

Lucia, Marek, and Geoffrey remained seated. They had prepared for outburst and petty discussions for the first day, and they had been met with that and more. They had a few hour to recuperate and collect themselves for the evening. They rose from the table and walked away, to go see a football game put on by the demes for the visiting royals.

Marek thought to himself with the hint of a smile on his lips. Kalidor mentioned that she would be there and they could discuss about tonight. He found out all the information he needed last night, and they needed to get a plan in order.

And, he thought as he touched one of the iron coins in his trouser pocket, he may need some way to clear his head afterwards depending how the evening went with the trial.


	10. Chapter 10

"That was a very stupid, albeit daring thing you did Caliban. You gain a spine when you came back from the dead?" Lord Green of Whitefalls said as the two men road through the nearby forests, flanked by five other major lords of the northern realms. Caliban nodded in agreement and took a swig from his wineskin. Despite his blindness, Caliban was more than capable of keeping up with the other experienced riders.

They were in the wilds, not far from the walls of Melior hoping to catch an animal they could have for a private dinner with the other lords. They were armed with bows and spears for the hunt, though they had their personal swords at their side. Even so close to the capital, there was always the danger of running afoul with the local brigands.

"Perhaps it was. Though it needed to be said, and because of that you invited me on this boar hunt. Large amounts of land, no ears to listen to us speak. So then let us speak, while no one else will know we conversed about this subject." Caliban replied. The other lords and ladies kicked their horses so that they were close enough they didn't need to speak above a normal tone of voice.

"Very well, though should a boar show itself or a deer, we will pursue it." Another lord, House Pariah if Caliban recalled correctly. "Like many other northern lords, though few will speak of it openly, we believe that there is only one suitable individual to sit upon the throne of the north. The House of Felirae may not have a stainless record when it comes to rule even beyond Ludveck, but then again which house can honestly claim a flawless history? For a dozen generations we have followed them in accent and decline, and many would like to see a dozen more generations pass before this subject is ever openly discussed again."

"I only know of Marek through what I have been told and read to about. He sounds the capable ruler needed, though I have yet to truly get to meet and understand him." Caliban stated as they continued down the path. It was a perfect spring afternoon. The wind from the seas had subsided and the warmth of the season could be felt. The trees had sprouted their leaves a while ago so it casted the path with shadows. "You have known him better than me, or at the very least you should."

"To be perfectly candid, we avoided speaking or acknowledging his presence. Many saw that he was underneath them and therefore not worth their time to speak to him." Lady Cromwell of True Falls replied. "Others, myself included, saw a chance to see him grow up on his own accords and judge him as the individual he was without our influences. Vizier Geoffrey was the perfect candidate to raise the children, a true Crimean. I can't speak for the other participants of the realm, that is just my observations."

Lord Rein of the Ironknoll spoke next. "Early after the rebellion, I remember sitting on some conversations with the queen and other powerful lords. The south and east had a particular interest in fostering the boys, or at least one of them. The three overlords fought tooth and nail to have the queen take Marek in when she mentioned that he would take the throne in due time. They wanted to mold him into a puppet so they could rule another region of the kingdom. It was only when Geoffrey put his foot down did they demand this council we attend now."

Caliban spat on the road, finding the words bitter. "I should have expected as much. It seems the troubles that caused me to leave didn't get resolved."

"Still, he is the rightful heir, and…" Lord Green looked around to make absolutely sure none were around besides them as the next words were picked with extreme care, "while we would have preferred Ludveck to lead us to this day as Overlord, Marek is a more composed leader even if he does lack the fire his brother did." The other lords grunted in agreement.

"You bring him up in a positive light, were these other circumstances I could consider it sedition." Caliban reminded the other lords.

"We respect the man he was, not the one he became. He was passionate, a firebrand, a leader who could inspire." Lord Rein said, and Caliban grunted in affirmation. "One bad act should not wash out the good nor does the good wash out the bad. We only wish to correct our mistake and make sure that Marek will ascend to the throne with the respect of the nation to lead us into an era of peace and prosperity."

"Perhaps, but he does have a tremendous stain upon his honor for his actions. Because of this, Marek has a growing shadow over his head because of it." Caliban stated, and listened to the forest, the gentle breeze caused the trees to shake in place. He lost himself in the serene peace for a brief moment before returning his mind to the conversation at hand. He wanted to believe those words that were said, but he couldn't.

Reaching out with his mind's eye, he tentatively probed Rein's thoughts. He heard whispers, a thousand views melding with his owns as he searched for the falsehood in those words. They spoke the loudest, the truth silenced in the deafening cacophony of lies. Lord Rein and many of the others wanted Marek to ascend to the throne because in their eyes he was still a young child who could easily be manipulated to further their own advancement. The cared not for family lines or the fact that he was the rightful ruler, they only though he was still malleable enough to be shaped into an obedient servant that bowed to their every whim.

A part of him was disappointed that this was the case, but Caliban was far from surprised that this was the case. Caliban recalled himself from searching the mind of this liar and scowled. "You, as well as many others, look to Marek as an instrument to solidify power in the northern region. A tool to be used, nothing more. Save your speeches of being better than the southern lords, when your motives just have a pretty ribbon wrapped around it."

Seemingly insulted, Rein burst into a tirade about how such a minor house, one whose sole survivor ran away with his tail tucked between his legs. Caliban rolled his dead eyes and reached out with his psychic senses once again. This time he was not invading the mind of the haughty northerner, but the steed that carried his chubbiness into the hunt. He searched through the animal's thoughts, when he found a place that radiated years of experience and discipline that allowed this animal to be tamed as a beast of burden.

Caliban felt his magical gifts hold that piece of the animal's psyche, and with both his body and soul sneering a dark smile, he closed his fist around any semblance of discipline that the animal had.

The stallion became feral in an instant, bucking the fat lord from his back, and kicking around the air with madness. The animal scared the other horses who had their riders try in vein to keep them from following the unruliness of an animal who only moments earlier was the epitome dutiful. Lord Rein fell to the ground with a thud and soon felt one of the shoed hooves slam into his skull rendering him unconscious with a concussion.

Caliban kicked his horse forward, riding hard, his thoughts were away from the hunt as he felt his disgust gather in his throat. Apparently his belief that the northern lords would be the more honorable and reasonable than the other lords was unfounded. Then again, pride knew no geography. His white haired horse scared the other animals away from their warrens, and within moments the peace that existed in the forest moments ago was shattered like brittle glass.

Caliban understood that he had his own reasons for being here, and it was perhaps hypocritical of him to judge others based on their intentions. He shook the thought from his head, his goals for Marek did not involve petty power gains. Monsters waited at the edge of reality, led by a god amongst men. They needed to be united to face this threat, and Marek was the one who would be a catalyst for such a unification.

Still, being right about the Flayed Ones never felt like a victory. There were few allies who would see the truth, their arrogance believing the dark days of slaughter were behind them and they could now continue with their petty feuds. "Fools." Caliban muttered under his breath. He had to make sure that Marek would ascend by any means necessary, and if diplomacy failed to play out then he would have to use the other tools in his arsenal to ensure survival.

Tools that carried a sharp edge.

* * *

An hour had passed and already Marek's hands were tired from the clapping and his throat was getting sore from yelling. Most of the fellow sport goers were in similar position. The normally reserved Mist was screaming as loud as she could as the Crimean Cavaliers knocked the ball away from the Melior Marauders. In the stand reserved for the royal family, Elincia tried to contain her excitement as she cheered the Cavaliers on while the children just used it as a chance to scream and not get reprimanded by their parents. The visiting royals were also engaged, though they scarcely knew who or what the teams were.

The game was played in the local colosseum, every city had one to a certain size or another. Some were a simple circle of wooden posts others were opulent works of masonry. Melior's arena was one of the later. It was large enough to fit thirty thousand comfortably with stands for taverns or other entrepreneurs to sell their wares. The thunder of the crowd was deafening, doubtlessly it was increased by the availability of alcohol. The observers sat in clusters based on the deme they supported, blue for the Cavaliers and green for the Marauders. They wore colored tunics embroidered with the names of their favorite players or words of their demes, others painted their body with their team colors. Yet these were tame examples of the fanatical devotion to teams.

Marek leaned back in his seat overlooking the sand covered playing field. He had been offered a place with the royals in their section of the stands, but he opted to don a cloak for the mild day and sit in the crowd. Mia was next to him in a similar getup, her hair tied back and a simple steel sword at her side to keep the illusion she was just a bodyguard for a semi-powerful individual. While he did feel a tad uncomfortable surrounded by men who smelled as if they had not bathed in a week who yelled at the referees at any opportunity, it was perhaps comforting to be amongst others who didn't know him.

He lived no sheltered life, even before his guardianship under Geoffrey. Sicarius and Ludveck both allowed him to move amongst the castle of his home with a distant bodyguard at all time. He enjoyed visiting the artisans of the city, sampling the bakery that made lilac and anise shortbread early in the morning, and watching the paladins practice their swordsmanship. When he was younger, Geoffrey would often accompany him as he moved through the Melior and Debary, doing the same things he had done back in Felirae. Few knew who he was and even fewer knew that he was the brother to a traitor and not some distant cousin. One of his favorite things to do was play football with Geoffrey and some of his men at arms, each one a model of skill and now they were playing in front of not one but two heads of state.

Normally the game would be played on a field of well-tended grass, but with the blades so young the field would become a swamp at the end of the game. Upkeeping the field was a costly endeavor, and Elincia did not want to spend more money than she had to. The sand could be seen as a disadvantage, but Geoffrey who led the Cavaliers and the team was mainly composed of his company of royal knights, often practiced for combat in sand filled arenas so they had the upper hand when it came to the terrain. Some complained about this, but there was no rule that the teams could not practice on a variety of terrains. There were stories of more local leagues playing in graveled quarries barefoot or the Gallian version of the game was often played on the side of cliffs or in the heart of dense forests.

Geoffrey kicked the playing ball over to another player on his team and proceeded to ram his right shoulder into the solplex of the Marauder charging at him, knocking the civilian player to the ground with a thud. The supporters of the Cavaliers rose in cheers while the Marauders shouted catcalls as one of their players had the wind knocked out of him. When it came to the contact of the sport, the rules were intentionally vague and the crowds relished the bone snapping collisions. Geoffrey helped the player back up to his feet and they moved to follow the ball.

Another pass, another feint. The players rushed around each other, fighting over a leather ball the same color as the light sand it was played on. Though it may not have been as visceral as gladiatorial combat, Marek would be lying if he said his heart wasn't thundering in his chest as Oscar tried to kick the ball into the opposing goal while three marauders encircled him. The supporters of both Demes were yelling words of cheer and taunting filled the air. "Break them!" was shouted from many. "Nika! Nika!"was another popular chant, meaning win/victory/conquer in a single word depending on the context it was used in.

The ball hit the bar of the net and the Marauder goalie snatched the ball with his hands and drop kicked it back into the frenzied melee. Instantly the players were at each other again. Elbows were jammed into the ribs of opponents, balls of the feet were brought down on toes, and even a punch or two was thrown as the teams scrambled for the ball.

As the dust storm settled, Marcia had regained control of the ball for the Cavaliers and was trying to defend it from the horde of other players. Geoffrey's voice rang over the commotion, doubtlessly issuing a command to the other players to give Marcia an opening for her to score another goal. Instantly the Marauders were being blocked by other players, forcing them back to give Marcia a clear line to fire.

Taking her chance, Marcia moved forward, letting the ball dance between her feet as she evaded those players that were not preoccupied by her teammates. Once she got close enough, she brought her foot back and delivered a kick that sent the ball spinning at a curve into the goal. The protector of the net tried to defend from the ball, but an unseen sand dune caused him to trip and have his fingers only graze the ball as it fell into the net.

The stands rose up as one with cheers, and Marek was one of the first. Mia cheered as well, ardent blues of Crimean Cavaliers. The score was now 3-1, in favor of the Cavaliers. Regardless of who would win, the streets would be alive with celebration, and Marek was sure that the other lords would be part of it, meaning to perhaps an easier night for debating and the dark act he had to do.

Marek felt a gentle tap on his shoulder, and spared an eye to look over his shoulder to see an older man with an expanding paunch. The finger that tapped him wore the sigil of the Sullied Heron, and Marek gave a nod to the man. He looked over to Mia who was unaware of the silent conversation. "I think I need to get a drink, care for anything while I am up?" Mia shook her head and Marek excused himself as he moved past a few fans who hissed as he blocked their view of the game for the briefest of moments.

He walked up worn stone steps to where a local brewery had set up a stall to sell their less then prime drafts at steeply discounted prices. There were few kind things said about the Black Birch Brewery, it was a place where people with no self-respect went to drink something that barely qualified as beer. It was also a place where someone could have a private conversation.

Marek was one of the latter, and spied his conversation partner sitting near the end away from any other company. Marek moved over to the robed figure and sat down. "You wanted to discuss something."

"You should realize what large of a risk I am taking doing this for you." Kalidor spoke with gritted teeth as Marek came closer to the darkened area of the stand as he flipped a few silver coins to the barkeep for a pint of ale. "I hate being out, too many eyes to see what we are doing."

Marek leaned against the stand, looking like he was just relining as he waited for his drink. "Perhaps, but we would draw more attention discussing in an alley way. Though you were the one that suggested this place, so I find you're complaining unsettling. Is there something you needed to discuss?"

Kalidor moved in closer and lowered her voice a little. "It is about our new best friend. I know he is here and I trust you are not backing out of this agreement, now that you know all about him."

Marek nodded and saw a wooden mug pass to him with the pale ale foaming in the tankard. "No, I am not going to be a vain bride and develop cold feet." He drank from the vessel. "I double checked what you said and checked the records. It is as you said. I counted perhaps seventy over the course of thirty years, and that is just for the bastard who owes you coin. The more I find out, the more I don't want to know."

"I didn't expect you to become a bleeding heart to laguz slavery over the course of an evening." Kalidor chuckled as she drank more of her alcohol, a frown of disgust crossed her face. "They call this beer? It is cold water-downed color they try to pretend it is a lager."

"It is cheap to make, creates a nice markup profit, and it gets the usual fans of the game intoxicated enough to think it is a good thing. And no, I am appealed by all sorts of servitude that is involuntary and it is not used as a judicial purpose." Marek responded as the ale came his way. He took a drink and looked down into the cool beverage, shaking his head. "Not even the ale is any good. But I guess the convenience is what really counts." He placed it down on the stand and rested himself on his side. "Anyways, I have a way you can get in later tonight, meet me in the library with three of your strongest men."

"We know a route to get in, we paid off a few guards access to anywhere but the royal chambers. At the hour of the owl I will be there, just be sure that he will be there as well. I have been wanting to get my talons into this man for a while. You know what is to be done with him?" Kalidor asked as the crowd rose up in triumph. Another goal must have been scored.

"I do, though when we have him we can discuss such things." Marek stated and reached over for his drink but couldn't find the hilt to his tankard. He turned his body and found it, not where he last left it. Maybe his arms knocked it away, he thought as he grabbed it and raised it to his lips as he closed his eyes to focus on the coldness of the drink.

Fiery pain shot through his wrists as Kalidor dug her talon like nails into him. Marek had his eyes shot open and saw droplets of blood trickle down his arms. He swore quietly and dropped the mug, which Kalidor caught easily enough with her other hand. "What in the name of heaven was that for?!" He hissed under his breath.

Kalidor didn't reply, and poured the beer out over her hand. Marek gripped his injury with his other hand as he looked more than a tad confused. As he watched the pale liquid fall, he noted two small black specks fall down into her hand. She closed her hand and put the contents on the stand. Marek looked closer and saw that the specks were moving. They were black with metallic green stripes. "Begnion Fly, commonly called the blistering beetles. Very effective and painful poisoning agents."

Marek felt himself instinctively wrench, wondering if he had swallowed any prior. Kalidor shook her head as if sensing his thoughts. "I saw a cloaked figure slip two into your drink just before you picked it up, don't worry."

Marek shuddered and looked at the bugs as they tried to get to their feet in the liquid. "I take it these bugs have earned their name many times over."

Kalidor nodded and slammed her fist down on the bugs. "Indeed. I have studied poisons for a few years of my life, so I know these things very well. This bug secretes the poison, designed to protect their clutches from predators. Even a few of these creatures can kill a horse as it devours hay." She used the cuff of her robe to push the corpses down on the ground. "Ingested, they blister your digestive tract, causing unbelievable pain and force the septic chemicals of the intestines to poison yourself."

"Not a good way to go." Marek stated and Kalidor nodded.

"I cannot disagree. Whoever did this is either incompetent or new at this. The bugs are easy to find in their live form, and these were not even in their most potent form. At most these bugs would have caused severe pain, but properly treated there would have been no lasting damage besides having you bedridden for a few days. I saw the assailant slip into the crowd, and finding him now would be a fool's errand." Kalidor said, gesturing to the crowd around them.

"It matters not, the assassins will not stop. The first rule of ruling is that others will want you dead regardless of what you do." Marek said in a dour mood. "Though tonight we will have one fewer to worry about. Just be ready for him to resist. I doubt he will leave without a fight regardless how many you bring with him."

He left Kalidor in the shadows, her heart turning as black as her robe as she relished the thought of pain she would bring upon this man who had swindled her out of so much. She spared a look to the young lordling as he departed, a smile crossing her lips as she envisioned him vambrace deep in blood. Oh how he would look when he surrendered to the madness boiling in his veins. This child thought he was ready to play the game of the high nobles. Tonight she would see his resolve for herself.

Marek sat back down, placing the thoughts of what he had to do in the deepest parts of his mind, and tried to lose himself in the game once again.


	11. Chapter 11

"My lord, please be still." Mist said as she applied ointment to Geoffrey's injuries. The Knight Commander sat down on a simple wooden bench stripped to nothing but a loin cloth wincing. His movement was instinctive wincing and recoiling as the sharp pain of the ointment worked into the injuries he normally attained from playing the game.

"Would not be wincing if you used a staff to heal this." He stated back with another grunt as she massaged the oily concoction onto his back and shoulders. Mist wasn't listening, she was focused on her work, or at least as best she could. She had come here immediately after the game, her heart still thundering in her chest. She surprised herself when she found out how much of a football fan that she was, especially since she was a member of the royal castle that accessed her to some of the best seats in colosseum. It was always a rush to get caught up in the game, especially watching Geoffrey.

Out of all the players, he was her favorite. Perhaps it was nostalgia, seeing him move about the field like it was the many skirmishes she had served alongside him. She was always amazed with his grace, both on and off the battlefield. It was at a field hospital when she first met him and she remembered how nervous she was upon meeting him, stuttering his title and name at least six times. Before she further embarrassed herself, he calmed her down with a gentle look and removed his cloak to have her address the wounds. Now six years later, he still cut quite the imposing figure to her even with all of the puckered white scar tissue.

She sighed whimsically as she moved her hands over the constricted muscles. "If I used a staff every time you had an injury, I think a tenth of the country's tax income would go to it. Besides, an ointment works just as effective. Please calm down and do not struggle." Her hands moved down from his shoulders and to his chest, and even though she had done this many times before. Each time she felt as if the breath would be stolen from her lungs in the span of a moment as she felt every inch of Geoffrey.

While her husband had arms that could lift her easily off the ground, Geoffrey looked as if he was carved from pure marble as testament to human perfection. Even all of the scars across his body did not detract from his beauty. She ran a hand over his shoulder, allowing herself a moment of petty pleasure feeling the thick cords of muscle relax. She shuddered at the feeling, though made sure that Geoffrey was none the wiser.

She felt ashamed. She was a cleric in service to the Queen, and she was probably breaking every aspect of honor in the oath she took advantage of Geoffrey's body for her satisfaction. She often spied on him as he was in the communal hot springs after training. She had yet to be caught and the only emotion she felt was unabashed lust.

Geoffrey grunted as he felt Mist's trained fingers unbind tighten muscle, savoring the touch with a touch of guilt. She was a married woman, one who should not be in the company of another man in such an intimate setting. Still, she was the best in her field of care and she volunteered to see to the sport injuries of the Crimean Cavaliers, in exchange of course for front row seats.

He felt that fire burn in his gut once again as Mist moved her hands down his back, near his waist. He wanted to object, this was not proper for a young married woman to do this. It betrayed everything he stood for in his oath of chivalry, but yet he always found his throat empty of complaints when he had to voice them.

She then moved her arms to his torso, and he felt begin to trace out several of the scars the furrowed his flesh. He felt a small smile cross his lips, "Admiring your handiwork?"

She huffed. "Commander, I would never do-" her argument died promptly on her lips when she felt Geoffrey's chest rumble with laughter. "Oh, you fool." She slammed the palms of her hands on his back causing Geoffrey to laugh out loud. It was something rare that she heard, and it broke the veneer he often wore. "That was very mean and rude to insinuate that."

Geoffrey continued to laugh, though he detected a hint of untruthfulness in her voice. He calmed himself down and Mist pushed the hot water mixed with fragrant herbs over to his feet to soak his legs. "You can take care of the rest yourself, Mister!" Mist stated and left without another word. Geoffrey placed his legs into the large tub of hot water and smelled the lavender and lilac that scented the water. The heat worked in a moment and he felt the muscles unwind.

He couldn't say the same thing for his mind. Left alone in the small stone room lit by a few candles, te only sound was his own breathing and the sound of water being kicked around by his legs. It left him plenty of silence for his mind to fill with an argument brewing inside his head. Mist was acting unusual around him, very much in the same way he did when he was alone with her a few nights ago. Could it be…

No, no it was rude to even think of such a thing. She was a married woman to perhaps one of the strongest fighters Geoffrey had the pleasure to meet and Boyd treated her with the utmost respect and care. Granted he was away for long periods of time doing odd work perhaps, it was just loneliness of being alone. She was just looking for some comfort in absence of a husband, perhaps intentionally or not.

Geoffrey let out a deep sigh he didn't know that he had been holding in and silenced the cacophony of voices in his head. He was a man of honor, and he would not break that by seeking comfort in the arms of a matrimonial young woman. His body and mind protested the idea and he screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to focus on something else, but all he could think about was her soft fingers on his skin and a place for the two of them not well lit.

* * *

Lucia sighed with great weight as she looked over the note once more. She did not attend the football game, despite how she promised her brother to watch him play this time. As such she was in her room when the note came, and though she could not find the messenger, she had a suspicion about who it was from.

The note was a simple one, written with an educated hand but the intention of common thug. It was a list of demands, but it boiled down to a simple motive with an equal threat if the motivation was not sated. Surrender your place as the defender of Marek, and you will walk away with your life. If you do not, then not even your son will be spared from our fury. She cared little for her life these days, she had endured so much pain, suffering and caused just as much of it to others that she grew numb to the threats on her own life.

But they had levied threats against Paris, against her son, and according to Crimean law, a threat was treated as acting out on those words. She felt the part of her soul that was devoted to being a caring and protective mother flare to life like a newborn wildfire. She wanted to draw her sword and strike at something in rage, but she suppressed the feeling with great effort. Though she could not help but feel the emotions of concern, anger and fear gnaw all around her as she tried to compose herself.

As if on cue, she felt a small gentle hand tug on her white dress. She looked over and saw her son, her pride and joy look up to her with wide innocent eyes. "Mommy, are you mad at me?"

She was shocked the words came out his voice, and she placed the letter aside to pick up her son to set him on her lap. "No, of course not. Why would you ever think of such a thing?" She asked with a hurt voice, though it was from the message she received rather than what was asked.

"I asked if you wanted to play with me many times, and you didn't answer. You think I did something wrong and wouldn't-" He said with a shy voice before Lucia placed a finger on his lips with a sad smile.

"Shh, don't think like that. Mommy is… dealing with some problems that came up today. You cannot do anything that would make me upset enough to ignore you." She reassured him with a hug and a kiss on his forehead.

"Even when I knocked down your vase?" He asked with a surprised look in his eyes. Lucia let a laugh escape her lips as she remembered the time Paris was running around the room unattended and accidently shattered her favorite vase. He tried to find someone to fix it, running around to find a mage to put it back together with tears in his eyes. Oh the lecture she gave him that day was perhaps the angriest she had been.

"Even if you knocked down all the vases I owned, we would just put them back together." She reassured him and held him closer, placing his head next to her heart. She sighed deeply and gently stroked her son's hair. Like her own, it was smooth and was often compared to silk, though thankfully it was tame and grew straight. Heaven's help her try to keep his hair groomed if he did inherited his father's hair. "Well, what game did you want to play?"

Paris smiled and looked up to his mother. "Oh, how bout a card game? Fisherman, or war or clock or-"

"How about you deal a game of fisherman? That was always my favorite to play when I was really young with my brother. I will be with you in a moment to play. No stacking the deck in your favor, and I know if you will, because you are perhaps the worst liar that I know." She said and the two shared a small laugh as she rose and walked out her bedroom door. She needed to take the letter to someone she could trust to ensure the safety of her son and to see who had written such a note to them.

She had her suspicions, yes, and thought of at least seven who had the stones to threaten the Minister of Internal Security. There were those she had watched since the days of the Ludveck's rebellion, those she thought would aligned to his cause but ultimately could never find an answer one the war was settled. Perhaps this was from them, wanting to leave the rightful heir out of the equation while they all jockeyed for power.

Maybe it was from another individual, someone who she had overlooked or misjudged their character. There were so many of the lords and ladies here that she did not know which serpent was the one who had the gall to strike out at their host. Perhaps it was many of them collaborating, which seemed like the most logical answer. There were many who would not like to see another Damon sit on the throne of the north, and even more who would not like to see a child of that line draw another breath. Politics, the same as war, often made strange bedfellows.

She saw that the door to Bastian's room was open a crack, and that there were voices coming from there. She recognized the speakers instantly, both were unmistakable speakers. And despite every instinct that told her this was the wrong thing to do, she waited far enough away from the door as not to suggest that she was eavesdropping, but close enough she could hear what was being said. "Truth now, you expect me to believe that he managed to swim fifty miles, in some of the roughest and coldest waters, and survive the ordeal with enough strength to rise to a position of relative power?"

It was Tibarn, that much was certain. Bastian was the next speaker, and his voice was laced with concern. "Not swim, I do not mean to insinuate that he had such a strength in him to do that my great lord. Everything else though it is as if a tragedy was writ before us." Lucia arched an eyebrow, who were they talking about?

"I still do not feel comfortable speaking openly about this subject of security with him standing there." Tibarn said followed by the sound of body movement gesturing to someone else in the room.

"How many times must I assure you, Volke is well indebted into my employment. None could outbid me without notice and even then we have the treasury to keep his loyalty." Bastian stated with a bit of tiredness to his voice. "But back to the matter at hand, my songbirds have not spoken to me as often as they have recently and the messages are all grim from that region. If it is true, and not an exaggeration, we may have a new insurgency on our hand if he does not keep to the woods."

"It is a small chance of it actually being true but I fear what happens if you are right." Tibarn growled, and he got close to the door enough to have Lucia inadvertently step back lest she would be spotted. Thankfully she made no noise and the Hawk King did not notice her. He spoke again with great gravitas. "Then we confirm this rumor, and if it is true we act decisively and violently. I do not care if he is a country away, I want a squad of the best assassins ready."

Lucia felt her mind race as to think who could this be? Ludveck? No, he was dead, Elincia said so herself. Izuka? No, she saw him die three years ago and she personally rolled his body into a bog to make sure no reminder of his life remained. A former Begnion Senator turned Disciple of Order who somehow survived the battle? Who in the blaze were they talking about?

"And if noble Micaiah objects to our black endeavor?" Bastian asked.

"She need not be the wiser. Confirm his presence, and if it is true, kill him with all the prejudice you can muster." Tibarn stated plainly. There was a moment of silence between the two, as the gravity of the words was felt. Of all of the members of royalty, she never expected Tibarn would be the one to sanction an assassination, let alone anyone of the royal family. She felt her throat go dry and tried to push the thought from her head. She steadied herself and moved closer to the door and knocked on it.

"Speak, friend, and enter." Bastian said and Lucia opened the door, mustering the most surprised look she could as she saw the three men in the monastic expanse of Bastian's quarters. Aside from a few tall bookshelves and tools used to observe the evening stars on clear evenings, the room lacked the grandiose decoration of many other rooms in the castle. "Ah, my winter rose, it is always a pleasure to see you." Bastian tried to play the role of a flirtatious lover, but it bought him little victories.

"As it is to see you." She responded in turn and gave a gentle bow of her head to Tibarn. "If this is a bad time, I can always-"

"No, we just finished." Tibarn stated with a tone that was at odds with the seriousness he had just moments ago. "See to that the affairs are in order, and if you could tell me where this comes from I would be appreciative." He said as he gave Bastian a small black wax disk and left without saying another word. The two looked to where Volke had once been, and not even his red bandana was visable as he vanished into the thin air.

"I find it most unsettling that he does that without giving an elucidation as he whims." Bastian muttered with his speech before returning his gaze to Lucia with a warm smile that quickly frosted when he saw the seriousness in her eyes. "What wrong has happened to you?"

"The wrong against me is nothing," she stated evenly as she handed Bastian the note and he opened it up and gazed it over, his flat lips curling is disgust and then to seething anger as he read on, "but against Paris is another matter entirely."

She saw the look of anger flash across Bastian's face. His desire to tear the paper in rage, summon squalls of magical might and crush the bones under the arcane might. Still, it lasted only a moment before it moved back to the calm and controlled mask he wore. He sighed and tossed the letter aside and moved to Lucia, placing his hands on her shoulders with a reassuring smile. "Whatever you need me to do to find these individuals, I will toil with all of my breath to make sure that they will be found out."

Lucia retuned the smile, the calm that Bastian radiated passed on to her and it almost made her forget what she had heard merely moments before. Almost. "Find them, and I want to know before anyone else." She said and gave Bastian a small peck on the left cheek. Bastian flustered for a moment, before he nodded as he turned to a desk to examine the note.

Lucia gave her lover a reassuring smile before she left with a faster step in her step to be sure that her son was safe. She returned to the room and saw that Paris was smiling a broad rare smile with a deck of playing cards dealt between the two of them with seven cards. Lucia sat down on the floor with her son and picked up the hand she was dealt. After moving the cards into pairs that she had, she shared the smile and asked. "Do you have any fives?"

* * *

Agatha sat next to the fire as the snow whipped around her, a knife whittling away at a strip of oak as the slivers of carved wood fell into the fire. She tightened her cloak around her shoulders as the wind bit into her skin once again. The mountains brought the harshest of winters and took them away with great reluctance, so practically eight months out of the year there was always the chance for freezing cold and great snowfall. Though compared to the unseasonably humid weather of her previous home, the cold was a welcomed friend.

She adjusted her knife grip and began to carve an eye in the piece she was doing. Next to her was several other pieces carved like foot soldiers in the same type of wood. She passed time making chess pieces, a hobby she picked up thirty years ago after her final stint as a mercenary, it kept her mind sane and focus away from the past. Upon seeing that the Rangers had few books to keep their mind as sharp as their combat skills, she decided to create them a few sets to hone their tactical skills as well as give them something to do in the down time besides drinking and sleeping.

She heard heavy footsteps from the edge of the flames, and she looked over to see Triton sit down across the fire from her, his hands outstretched to the flames to warm himself. Agatha continued her work as the silence was broken by the former king. His voice was softer than she had grown accustomed to, though it still held the gravity of ages. "You haven't changed in the time since we have last seen each other. I never found you without something being done in your hands."

Agatha smiled for a moment before continuing her work. "I guess that those old habits will never die. You, likewise, haven't changed much. A head for tactics, weighed down heavy by the crown. I only saw you smile twice, and even under your helmet I know you don't grin. Even when your empire would rival the old one, you never drew your lips up."

Triton nodded. "I often found myself without a reason to smile. Our final battle saw that end almost completely. Now I was left alone with memoires, each of the bitter as bile with the passing of time."

Agatha stopped and placed the tools aside as she looked into the fires with Triton. In the dancing flames, she saw the memories she tried to squash as they brought forth pain and suffering once again. "The Field of Iron, our first and only time we cross blades. We each fought for our own reasons, and each of believed that our side was justified."

Triton scoffed bitterly. "It wasn't a fight, it was a slaughter. You outnumbered us at least a hundred men for each of my own. It was on that day the flood broke, and it was a massacre you inflicted with the betrayer at your back. How could we stand against such a thing, with winter coming at us and our strength sapped from the civil war we fought?"

Agatha shook her head. "I believed that we did the right thing that day, though with as many years passing for both of us, doubts still linger in my mind. We fought you on that day-"

"Because we couldn't be trusted. The Goddess needed a weapon that would never obey its own desires before those of her vision. She needed a weapon that would never bite the hand that wielded it. My people would never be that weapon. We've all drawn our blades, axes, spears and scythes to shed blood simply for the sake of shedding it, when it was needed as many times as it was unnecessary, and we were ready to set those blades aside to forge our own domain free from her influence when our task was done. We are not the tame, reliable pets that she wanted. You obey, when we would not. The Four Heroes could be trusted, when we never could. They had a self-restraint we lack, because their passions are not ablaze with the hope of another glorious battle to forge out empire. We were the wolves and lions that stalked at night's edge, and we do not heed a command that did not benefit us. Soan the Great Lion, Dheginsea the Dragon, Altina the Beorc Hero and Lehran the Heron were not the animals they claimed to be as they obeyed the beck and call of Ashera. Only a dog does that, a trained animal. That is why we were slaughtered that day, because we would not be tamed and collared." Triton stated and from under that helm, Agatha saw the faintest embers of blue fire lick his eyes.

It was in his blood, that much Agatha was certain. Even after a false death and witnessing the folly of his actions all of those years ago, the black mask of rage ran through him still. In his heart of hearts, he yearned for nothing more than to bring his flanged mace crackling with fire down unto a creature wreathed in shadow. She knew he still craved to taste the hot air lined with as his magic blackened his foe as he cracked the skull of another with nothing more than a thought. She had seen what he was capable of when he was fully embraced in the bloodlust, and it was a terrible sight to behold.

But as quickly as that flame was sparked in his eyes, they were smothered in an instant like a wave breaking on stone. He was a creature full of paradoxes. The first to draw his blade to maim and kill a foe, but also the first to order the weapons set aside when conversation was the proper course of action. A mindless berserker in the troughs of a bloodrage but also an individual capable of great compassion and sympathy. It was almost…human. He took a deep breath of cold and smoke to steady himself. "Those memories still burn hot in my soul. I even before I wore the black armor of sovereign and chaplain, I could hear the screams of the dishonored dead and give them a voice. They speak to me now, and even with my Crucible they demand vengeance."

The Crucible, Agatha shuddered as she recalled the magic that was summoned to create such an endeavor. It was a horrific spell, forged from the darkest anima that would have seen the creatures rise to battle once again. It was a desperate attempt, and they use the last of their magical talents in the twilight of eldritch autumn. "Though the veil is weakening now, has the season change finally come at last?"

Triton held out one of his hands and summoned a ball of sparks that slowly melded together to form a ball of blue and white flame. The ball shuddered for a moment and then it soon grew to envelop the arm the hand was attached to. "The curtains between the worlds is weakening, soon this cantrip will be as it once was. With such power unleashed upon a world that has forgotten it, I can only imagine the changes for a people who have only known the time of smothering the gifts." Triton shook his arm and the flames dissipated as easily as they came to his hand.

Agatha looked into the camp fire as Triton added another log rich with sap that crackled and spat. In the dance of flames, she imagine those old battles she fought, before her time as a mercenary among other titles. She swore for just the briefest of moments, she saw her and Triton crossing weapons. Both of them with their weapons drawn, eyes wide with rage pushing against each other to see who would give way first. "How fickle fortunes are, last we met you were bleeding like a stuck pig under me and now both of us past our prime fighting an old foe for the sake of everything." She mused almost to herself.

"Indeed, though the ultimate end goal of this individual is something even I do not know, nor the gifts he will bring." He snapped his fingers together as he had just remembered something. "I had meant to return this to you sooner, but I needed to make some alterations to it. It had seen much use since you had last lain your hands upon it." He reached up to his back and unhooked a large sword, almost as tall as a normal man and the weight to match it. The scabbard was finely wrought, fresh leather oiled brown studded with silver chains held them to the scabbard into the back. There were runes carved into the leather as well, not Beorc or Laguz, but fierce and potent Calligan one. Each one was not just a letter or word of power, but they curled into the leather reciting battle cries and litany of ruination. She even sees the words Triton uttered when they first met all those years ago. _Victory is measured in blood, both your own and that of your foe._

The hilt of the sword was repaired, red silk wrapped over ray skin to provide provided a better grip than it was originally made with. Agatha wrapped her fingers around the hilt and pulled the blade out by a mere inch. Instantly the campfire caught the blade and it glowed like a newborn sun as it drank in the light. "I have consecrated it once more, it is as powerful as you remember it. Perhaps not as clean, but it has its share of battle scars I would not fix unless they compromised the blade. None have done so."

"Where did you find this blade?" She asked with her breath short in her lungs. She closed it back into the sheath, an airtight lock formed as the blade clicked shut.

"On the shell of a man. He had no use for it anymore, so I took it from him." He stated with the hint of amusement in his voice. It wasn't a literal interoperation, Agatha knew that for a fact. The man who wielded this blade once was still very much alive, though now that its old master had been found, no longer saw a reason to carry it.

"I thank you. It is a formidable weapon, even without the sister that went with this blade. I have every intention of using it once more when the time comes. And I know that day we will face is soon, though what perplexes me is that you would not be the one to bring it. I imagined through my life that you would be the one to carry the standard of ruin with you in the name of vengeance."

Triton nodded. "It had always been my intention to do so. However, while conflict should be a way of life, I would have lacked the strength in arms to carry out such a campaign with efficiency. Besides, there are foes that would provide a greater challenge than your own kind."

Agatha wondered with an arched eyebrow. She knew Triton's philosophy of warfare, how one needed constant conflict in their life to keep their senses sharp, it was the second part that surprised her. "I always thought you saw beorc and laguz as powerful adversaries."

"Make no mistake, you are the most tenacious kind I have ever crossed blades with. Tactics and valor is mixed with insanity and cruelty. Many of the other foes I have met are not as diverse, which makes the battle perhaps predictable. However, there are other creatures that encompass things even I could not imagine. The flood didn't touch the whole world before we outlived our usefulness." Triton spoke with something that bordered on nostalgic enthusiasm as he remembered those far flung days. "Goddess those were some battles. The Ulgans, creatures who obscured their true form in mystic smoke and took the shape of a giant spider. My blade would often cut through the smoke without drawing any blood. Those were battles that left me eager for the next one to see the world removed of that parasite."

Agatha picked up the wood and began to whittle again. "You remember the Wentiko? The demon with the skull head of a deer with its skin pulled drum tight over the rest of its body?"

"Yes, with ropes of flesh hanging from their limbs and pestilence carried upon their breath. It was often whispered that they were once beorc who greedily dug into wild magic at the height of summer. I don't think that is true, but it makes a good lesson. Though the howl they make, that is what never leaves your mind."

The two continued to talk about foes now confined to the pages of an archaic book, the Testament of Extermination. It was a book that contained history of the Calligans as well as their foes slain, filled with a thousand examinations of bodies, autopsies and ways to kill their foes. It was a massive book, as large as a dictionary and as long as a man's forearm. For the longest time it was confined to the Begnion Library before it was lost in the years leading up to the Mad King war.

A book filled with words and symbols none understood or recognized was found in Izuka's possession during his time in the Dawn Brigade, and upon his departure he left it behind in the care of another because he felt it was useless. It traded hands for three years before finding its way to Micaiah, who thought it would be a gift to Crimea's royal scholars to decipher and thus gifted it to Elincia.

That book now waited in the archives of the Melior Castle, and it was the one Marek had drawn to read as he waited for the second half of the day's debate to begin.


	12. Chapter 12

When the crimson light of the dying sun began to show its way through the stained windows into the Hall of Tellius, Marek could not be in a fouler mood. Despite everything, Caliban's message and more than one harsh rebuke from his two advisors, the crowd still picked arguments about trivial past details that had next to nothing about Marek. These were individuals who were getting intoxicated of the smell of their own excrement, and they made no effort to hide it from others.

Marek, who already had little patience for the events after the morning and having had a few more drinks than he should have had at the game and afterwards, could feel the last strands of his temper be slowly sliced away one by one. He looked at the crowd that thought they were of pure of heart and noble in spirit to judge him. Many were unworthy to carry their names, names that were supposed to bring hope and high ideals.

Two hundred years ago, House Maoraant led a last stand against a renegade Daein commander who outnumbered their forces sixty to one. They could have retreated but sacrificed their lives so that thirteen towns totaling twenty thousand civilians could escape before the main army could come. Because Lord Jorah had sworn to defend those who could not.

Fifty years later, the head of House Sanders took the snow robe of the White Rangers because he committed a dishonorable act in the name of King Reginald the First. Though the act of violent reaction kept the peace during a potential civil war, the Lord knew he could not recover from such an action and abdicated to his eldest daughter. Because Lord Clover had sworn to be true and forthright in all things.

Twenty years ago, Lady Sansa of House Flanders took to the field of battle against a usurper to the throne of Gallia at her own initiative. Though it was an unpopular action with her peers and subjects who despised the laguz, she stopped a rebellion before it even began on foreign shores. Because Lady Sansa had sworn to put aside all prejudices for the safety of the nations.

Where were they now, these legends who wetnurses told children? Dead and dust, every one of them. Their replacements? Lord Swin Maoraant, a prejudice philanderer who lost most of his family's money on bad investments now bled his subjects dry in taxation to fuel his own spending habits. Lady Walada Sanders was known far and wide as someone who used violence against any who threatened her image. And Lord Polock of House Flanders could not care less for anyone besides himself who more that justly earned the nickname Polock the Hesitant.

It was when Swin was speaking about himself and how he should demand the attention of everyone because of something that he did right twenty-three years ago that Marek felt his final nerve snap. He rose from his seat, making an effort to use his chair to drown out the incompetent has-been lord. The room became quiet as Marek moved away from the table, garnering a few looks of concern from Lucia and Geoffrey who were unaware as to what he was to do.

Marek walked till he was practically in the center of the hall. He raised his head and began to shake it. The sound was hard to make out at first, it was something small and inconsequential unless you truly craned your ears to listen to it like a kitten's purring. It then grew louder and the sound was unmistakable laughter. It was still quiet, a chuckle.

Then it grew louder, until Marek threw back his head and laughed to the heavens. The voice was pitched just right that it took acoustics of the hall just right that it echoed through the halls. It was a mixture of truthful amusement and sarcastic damnation. Part madness, part judgment. It flowed from Marek's lips like a waterfall.

He regained his composure, silencing the laughter just as easily at it came. He looked out the crowd who was unsure what just happened. Still rippling with mirth, he spoke loud for all to hear. "Such brotherhood and fraternal love amongst the sons and daughters of Caradock! What trust, what insight, such unity in vision and purpose! Pah!" He made the verbal sound of spitting and waved his arm out, as if casting all of what he said to the wind.

"Even when there is a rabid panther in your room, you lot would still argue over who had the softest furs to sleep on! The nobles of Crimea, men and women chosen by the senator to look after his creation lest it be devoured by two other kingdoms. Looking upon you, I can say without any restraint that it would have been better for Caradock to bend his knees and have his neck bent under an axe head so he wouldn't have left his kingdom in the hands of fools like you!"

That drew a response, but he continued to speak over their condemnation. "You will be silent. You will be quiet and listen for once in your misbegotten lives." Even he was surprised with the fire he was speaking, every image of him being a meek individual who could not speak for himself to others was shattering like brittle glass. "You care for nothing but your own concerns until all hell shows up at the door and you complain that the others didn't stop it. You care not who sits in the throne so long as you have your own to sit on! Is that the ideals you were raised to? The idea that Crimea would take their rightful place amongst the nations? No, you fools, it does not!"

"You have no right-" Lady Walda raised her voice, but it was silenced in a moment by Marek's.

"I have every right to do so, you vein and petty sow! You are the one who takes away a person's tongue when they raise it against you but are more than ready to use your own against others!" He turned the rest of his attention to the crowd. "Even united, what are you capable of, in ten years time, no fewer than three conflicts have come to the kingdom and what did you do? Most of you were content to sit back and support the victor. The Mad King let you keep your lands, so why fight him? You spineless snakes are not worthy to even sit in the chairs you do now! What will happen when the next threat comes, the one that threatens to swallow us all? What will you do when a force comes and takes the land Caradock took from the goddess and her apostle? What will happen then?"

He laughed once more. "Run, hide or fight, it matters not, because with you incompetent cowards… you will all be destroyed until not even your names would remain from that tempest."

* * *

Of all the games Paris would play with his friends, perhaps the one he was best at was hide and seek. With the castle so large, it was easy to find a hiding spot away from Oscar, Marcia, and Astrid as they looked everywhere for them. Severus and Maneus were good, but he was better! He was smaller and could fit in more spaces then they could.

His mother was concerned with him playing for some reason, and seemed upset when she talked to the three knights about it. But they said that they would play in the quiet corner of the caste, far away from the guests. She never had a problem playing with them before, why now? Was she really mad at him and was upset that he would embarrass her?

He spied an old room that had the door open and rushed in to hide somewhere. It must have been an old room, there was even a dust covered straw mattress that looked s if it hadn't been used in a long time. He rushed in and lifted the mattress by the underside and rolled under it, letting the heavy canvas lay down on top of him as his cheek pressed against the cold stone floor, a chuckle escaping his lips as he waited to have everyone pass by him and call out his name as they gave up.

For a while, he didn't know how long as the light through the window didn't change as the clouds rolled through the sky like balls of black wool. He shrank back a little, even though he knew he was safe inside the castle. Oh, how much he hated thunderstorms. He hoped there wouldn't be one tonight, Bastian promised to take him to a play tonight that he would enjoy seeing!

Paris heard footsteps, and had to bite back a smile as he moved back into the mattress to hide himself. He heard the footsteps stop outside the door, and there was a moment of pause before the door opened. It was odd, there was no sound of clanking metal that the knights wore even when they had free time. In fact, he barely thought he heard those footsteps as if someone was making sure they would not be heard. He thought that this was either of the two brothers he played with, but the footsteps were long, and had a trained sound to them.

The door opened and the figure stepped in. Still hiding under the mattress, Paris allowed himself to steal a peek at the man who entered. He was tall, though no taller than Uncle Geoffrey, and had long brown hair that was filled with strands that were grey like salt. He had a red bandana across his mouth, and his eyes seemed to blend into the black shadows of the room. He was looking, though his eyes were nowhere near the mattress. He let out a pleasant sounding grunt, as if he was satisfied with what he saw.

The masked man tossed a blue gem unto the floor, for a brief moment there was nothing but the sound of the wind blowing outside mixed with a few rain drops hitting the window. Then the crystal began to spin with energy that danced like a flame all around it. It soon levitated off the ground and that energy exploded upwards, forming the outline of a man. Slowly the flames gave a more detailed expression of the man, and still trying to be as small as he could, Paris tilted his head to get a better look at the figure of blue.

He was tall, very tall. He looked a lot like an older Marek, but maybe with a few scars and some longer hair. He wore a long cloak that was a very light color, possibly even white, but it was hard to tell when everything was shown in dull shades of blue. He wore an ornate breastplate, and had an equal ornate blade strapped to his side. He looked as if he was annoyed at the summoning, but made no vocalization about it. "You needed to speak." His voice even sounded like a grown up Marek.

"Your presence is being noted, sir. I have orders from Bastian to confirm your presence, though I doubt I will be the only one to do so." The masked man spoke quickly, his hands stuffing leaves into a thing Bastian always had nearby much to mommy's anger. The figure made of light put his hand under his chin and went into a deep thinking state. "I am also told to deal with you by any means necessary."

"That might be a problem." The other man said, who looked like Marek only taller with a few scars across the face. "I have been paying you well enough not to consider such a promise?"

"More than enough. I won't be breaking my contract with you, but to keep this veneer up with the Count may require something." The masked man moved in front of Paris' view, and he scooched over a little so he could still see. "I'll need to do something about that problem that can keep me in both of your good faiths."

Paris wondered what they were talking about. He knew something big was happening, and his mother had something to do with it, though she would never tell him about it. It was always referred to as 'something I had to do today.' Could these men be part of the events going on today? Deal with any means necessary? He didn't like the way those words were said.

"I guess I need to keep my influence more subdued. Who else knows about this? I doubt the Count wants to make everyone aware of his failings to keep me away on an island for the rest of my life." The man in blue said as he stretched his arms with a groan. "Apologies, I have not eaten or drank for a whole day and have another day ahead of me for another event. But my mind is still sharp enough to speak with you. What of developments with the trial? My other contact states things have not been going as well as they should."

"Indeed they haven't. The lords seem set against him, though I have heard a few things will happen that could tip the favors to him. If things go as well as I suspect, there may be a few more vacancies to fill once his is done. I have begun my efforts on your behalf. A few threats and incriminating letters being made public to the printing presses and calligraphers seems to have had instant results. I still don't know what you see in him, if you would allow me to be so bold. He has no knowledge of what you know and could very well undo all of the pieces we have put into play."

"Perhaps, but Marek is someone who will not deny the patterns when they fall together. Convincing him will be hard, but he will see the truth and know what we do. The Calligans are coming, and he will see that this is greater than a dispute between brothers. They cannot pick and choose the allies they have. You gave him the serum to understand the language I trust, Volke?" The man in blue stated and the man nodded.

Paris decided to scooch forward a little to try and get a better view but heard his buttons drag on the stone floor. He felt his heart stop in his chest as he realized all too late that it was louder than he thought it was.

The masked man, Volke apparently, turned around and Paris instantly shrank back, trying to make himself as small as possible under bed. He heard something, like a sharp cry as black leather boots stomped over to the mattress. The old thing was heavy, it had taken Paris a lot of his strength just to lift it on one side so he could roll under it. But to this man if might have been nothing but paper as it was pulled up and tossed across the room.

Before Paris could even utter a cry for help, he felt a heavy leather clove grip his jaw, picking him up off the ground, causing him to kick his little feet in some desperate attempt to get out. The man's grip was hard as steel and in his other hand was a knife. "What is it?" The man in blue asked.

Volke growled and sheathed his blade before spinning Paris over to the man in blue light. "A child, oh heavens Volke you made me afraid that something serious happened. Put him down, he means no harm to us."

"As you wish, my master." Volke placed Paris down, perhaps a bit too hard, but Paris didn't feel like tempting his luck and give the man a reason to hurt him. He was shaking from head to to so hard he was surprised he didn't fall down then and there. Volke seemed to be annoyed that he was acting like this, but the man in blue seemed to be comforting.

"Hey, it's alight." The man in blue knelt down so that his face was just as high as his own. The voice softened a little bit, but it still held the tone of authority. "Nothing is going to happen to you. What's your name?"

"P…Paris sir."

"Paris, that is a nice name. You look very familiar. Who are your parents?"

"Lucia is my mommy, she doesn't speak much about my daddy." Paris said, and for a brief moment the man had a face full of concern for the briefest of instances.

"He speaks truth, and if I read correctly… some individuals in power are more than ready to use him to get their way." Volke said. The man in blue got to his feet and nodded solemnly. Looking at Paris with perhaps a little more inquisitive look, trying to pick him apart bit by bit. He nodded and looked over to Volke.

"Well, it looks like we have been troubling him enough. Volke, since you said I was paying you too much, give the lad some coin, I imagine he may want to get something for his mother." Volke nodded and handed Paris a large bag that was heavy. The blue man bent over a little to speak to Paris once again. "Go get your mother something nice, I have a feeling she will appreciate it. There should be enough to have you get a few treats yourself. Just… don't mention anything that happened."

"What happened?" Pairs asked with a small smile, and the man in blue returned it. He reached out his hand and, making sure to just graze the top, pretended to ruffle those light blue locks of his.

"Very good. And Volke, I want you to find those individuals and I imagine the stocks need to be filled with a few individuals in need of public ridicule." Volke nodded and the blue man disappeared in a shimmer of fractured light, and the crystal fell back into his open palm. Paris looked away for a moment back to the bag in his hand and looked to see where Volke had gone. He was nowhere to be seen, it was almost as if he had never existed in the first place.

He tied the heavy bag into one he already had on his hip and moved under the mattress, hearing the clank of armor coming down the halls. His mind was back on the game, and looking forward to surprising his mommy with a new gift tonight after Bastian took him to the theater.

* * *

Micaiah felt her lips curve into a smile as she laced her fingers in with one another. Now she was amused. For the first time since her arrival, she was amused and satisfied with what she saw playing out before her. When Elincia had invited her here, she had spoken so highly of this lordling, this child who had the world against him. Now, after seeing his hospitality and listening to the passion that would consume him when he needed to, he was everything she said and more.

The way he spoke may have seemed like a blanket condemnation, but it was tailor made to those who were truly in the wrong and those who could understand that they did not earn his ire sat back. Marek was a skilled orator, doubtlessly a talent he picked up from his foster father and aunt. Every once in a while he would get so wrapped up in his speech that Lucia would rap her table to remind him to slow his talk down. He had charisma, raw and untampered but had it none of the less. In the fullness of time, he would be a great ruler.

She now saw a very powerful ally for both Elincia and herself. She needed close friends in foreign courts, ones to turn to when other diplomatic paths were impossible. Now, she had found one she would have a very beneficial relationship with. And now she had to see to the second part that Elincia had summoned her for a visit.

The first part was formal business between heads of state, and for the most part that was already conducted. Now she needed to flex her political muscles to… influence hesitant lords to see that it would be beneficial to see Marek in a position of power. Elinica gave her permission to individually renegotiate trade agreements with Crimean nobles and her state-run industries. Nothing was promised, but the offer of individually negotiating was tempting. Renning would have access to the Myrmidons for the officer exchange program in return for his support.

Others would fall in line and pledge their support, she knew that much. Marek would be none the wiser, though she made a note to pay him a visit to talk about the future once he was given the title. He would have his uses and she would be more than ready to help him when the need came. The way he spoke about the new threat, while chastising the lords for their inaction and general buffoonery, struck her.

There was another storm brewing, and it was one that would be a tempest to break the spirits of men and rulers. Preparing for such a threat when it came would be valuable, and if it came from the Flayed Ones or something else it was clear… they could not stand alone against it. They needed to be bound together in unity or crumble separately.

She turned her attention back to Marek as he was finishing up his speech. She felt a chuckle when he spoke like a parent to sullen children, telling them to go to their rooms without any supper. She was even more amused when he said those words. "I want each of you to retire to your chambers, think long and hard about your commitment to the nation rather than your own petty concerns. Don't think that you will have a feast tonight, I will give it to the visiting heads of state, the staff of the castle instead and leftovers to the downtrodden who flock to the capital in the hope of a better life. If you starve, find your own meal if you are able to do so without a cohort of servants."

With that, Elincia adjourned for the day and the room quickly dispersed in silence. Michiah leaned over to Sothe and gave him a kiss on his lips. They both needed to get to work.


	13. Chapter 13

Elincia was known for being a measured woman. She prided herself in being calm, controlled, and unflappable in the presence of others. Since the end of Ashera's judgement, she rarely showed anything approaching true anger when others, especially with her close friends and loved ones, were near her.

But with Bastian, dressed in the finery associated with returning from a night out with Paris and other noble children told her something she should have heard about days, hells months ago, that amount of patience was in danger of expiring. She rapped her fingers on her desk with a glare in her eyes. "And you hid this from me for how long? Not just the rumor, but the fact you personally searched Shade's Atoll and found no trace of him."

Tibarn stood next to Bastian, his head lowered in embarrassment. He could keep few secrets from his wife, especially when she had suspicions for a while. He should have realized it when he returned to their bedchamber and found her still dressed standing in front of the door with her arms folded and he had the idea to ask what was wrong. Of all the storms he weathered in his days as the Pirate King, nothing could compare to the one his wife could prepare if she was truly furious with him. One tongue lashing later, he told her everything he knew and who else was involved.

Bastian, to his credit, remained where he was and began to untie his scarf he wore for the evening. "Almost a year ago. Your Majesty, I thought it was best for the kingdom not to be fully aware about his return. Not to put everyone on edge, especially with the turbulent trial where the survival of this young lordling would be jeopardized upon us at this moment."

" _Count_ Bastian, while I express thankfulness that you finally show concern for Marek's well being, the day when these decisions are to be made without my authority is the day I am laid to rest in my family's mausoleum." Elincia's voice was cold, though it was hiding her true emotion behind it. "Assassination is something that should only be done when all else fails, not as the first response. You should have brought this information to me, regardless how I feel about it. Yes, my husband is my equal but when it comes to matters of primarily of Crimean concern, I am the one who gives the final decision just as I defer to Tibarn when issues for the bird tribes are brought up to the issue of policy. This is a problem that needs to be addressed at a later time. At the conclusion of Marek's coronation as Overlord of the North, which will happen by one means or another, we will have his input on this matter and we will figure out how best to approach it."

Elincia returned her attention to a note she had been writing before, dipping her quill into the inkwell but she could tell that Bastian was not finished speaking. "Your highness, I am afraid we cannot wait that long. Even were it to happen tomorrow, it would be too long."

"Are you questioning the orders of your regent?" She asked as she scribbled a note to Titania, once again imploring her to consider rejoining the knights with the promise of a commander position and the promise of allowing to remain in her current chair of mercenary leader, provided they would not be hired out against the interest of the crown.

"Merely stating the facts, I have already hired expendable mercenaries to deal with him by lethal force. They will leave come the break of dawn." Bastian responded.

The writing stopped and the sound of a quill snapping in half filled the dead air. Four years of never losing her patience ended and Elincia's voice was quiet though her hand was shaking. "What did you do?"

Exit stage left is what Bastian should have done, what anyone with a remote sense of self-preservation would do. Perhaps it was his title as chief diplomat and the fact he was the garf of some of the most prosperous counties in Crimea that had his ego inflated to not do such a thing. He was the Lord of Treatises, no one could replace him immediately. "I made the necessary arrangement to hire ten of the best contracted killers that I know, baring Volke as I need him for other reasons though I have little doubt of his loyalty to us. At twenty thousand a piece, which we had more than an ample supply in the coffers, it will only be a matter of time before Ludveck is brought in either a coffin or heavy chains. Either is preferable."

Elincia didn't say anything. She placed her broken quill and ribbed her temple while taking in a deep breath of air. "Wow." She let the word hang in the air and Bastian began to feel a smirk crease his lips. He knew that she would appreciate it once she heard his reasoning.

Elincia continued her sentence. "I cannot believe you are that dense. You abused your position to acquire funds, excessive amounts at that, to do something that could cause a international crisis if it were to go south like a heron in the winter time. Did you even think of the repercussions or is your ego so inflated that you overlook them all?" The tone it carried did not invite a response.

Bastian either didn't notice or care. "I talked this with Ki-"

"You will shut up and let me finish!" She hissed at him, and the color drained from her face, leaving a pale face contorted in anger that was something neither Tibarn nor Bastian had ever seen before. She turned her attention to her husband for a moment. "Tibarn knows full well that he is to seek my approval or counsel on matters given to him as I would give it to him when matters such as this. Even were they not specifically Crimean interests, acting without accountability or collaboration with equals leads to disaster."

Her gaze fell back on Bastian. "This is not the first time you have hidden your secrets from me, and while I do not expect my nobles to be entirely forthcoming with me in fact I expect quite the opposite, I have grown rather annoyed with yours. Three years ago you could have ended the rebellion of this man before it reached the level it did. Four months later, you hid the fact that you had located a war criminal months in advance and only decided to share that information when it was the furthest thing on all of our minds. Now, you hide this from me because you were afraid of how I would respond?! Do you still see me as the princess who just felt the weight of the crown placed on her head? Do you still see me as a woman who almost ended her own life because no allies came to me to stop this rebellion?"

She rose from her seat and took a step forward, then another to put her within a foot of Bastian's face. He instinctively tensed his muscles, expecting a backhanded response. It didn't come, but her words continued. "You almost cost me the life of my precious childhood friend and your lover, twice considering how far Izuka's feral laguz claws sank into her back that day, for what? Your ego being satisfied and the idea that I needed to be tested? Now you spend substantial funds from the royal treasury hiring assassins, individuals with whom we have no guarantee that they can carry out their mission successfully without connecting it back to us. For what, problem which could be broached in reasonable time? Not every action has to be grand in its execution, and certainly not this expensive."

She narrowed her eyes. "Two hundred thousand golden florals. Do you have any idea how much that is?" Bastian had a general idea how much goods and material could cost. A set of good steel armor was worth about three hundred coins, decorated and enchanted was at least seven times that. Many hits he had contracted ranged from two to seven hundred florals depending on the target. He needed good men, discreetness, and the body to be presented so he thought it was reasonable to pay twenty thousand for each. "I was planning on laying the foundation for a public university with this year's funds, so that we do not need to rely on apprenticeship to give us skilled tradesmen and sages. I could spend that money to the alchemist guilds to help develop stronger crops because this year's summer it to be one of the driest in a decade. Already today, I had to write and send three condolence letters and give practical blood money to soldiers who died earlier this week clearing the Ilarn Mountain pass. Dying to clear a road, Bastian! Because if that isn't maintained, supplies bought by the crown cannot go through. If those supplies cannot go through, the northern providence cannot rebuild Volus and another secessionist movement could brew. I need money for that, and I can't have you dipping your hand into the treasury even to take a penny without my permission."

"Were you not skilled in what you do, I would strip you of all your ranks and throw you into the darkest cells of the dungeon for stealing such an excessive amount. Now while I understand your position about this issue, I expect you to answer to me on matters such as this and that you are to repay every coin you took. We are, just to be clear, not speaking past one another any longer. We are on the same on the same page?"

Bastian blinked, his mind comprehending what exactly Elincia told him. He nodded after a moment that felt like years, and Elincia smiled a smile that was clearly forced because it was to be expected of her and the color soon returned to her face. She sat down at the desk, rummaged around for another quill and continued her note. "Now then, what are you going to do to rectify this situation?"

Bastian looked over to Tibarn, who offered no suggestions to the Count. He was going to have another talking to later in the evening for allowing this to happen, but Bastian was the one who had the coins spent so this was his problem to dig himself out of. "Well… I cannot request they return the money I have given them already, and at this point it would be scandalous to withdraw the contract at this time. We cannot change horses' midstream."

"As much as it pains me to admit it, I do agree with you. The only thing we can do is assure that the job is carried out properly." Elincia stated with an annoyed tone, dipping her quill into the ink to finish the note's final lines.

Tibarn spoke this time, "Given that we were the ones to instigate such a thing, it seems only fitting that we would be the ones to oversee this endeavor."

Elincia nodded, but frowned. "Ordinarily, that would be acceptable. But considering the current circumstances, we cannot do that. Bastian, for all intents and purposes, you are a voting member for this event and Tibarn needs to be present there as well to moderate with me."

The Queen of the Crimea placed her hand under her chin and thought about other candidates for that position, and a flurry of names came to her mind. Nepheene? No, she was head of her local militia two days away from Melior. She was also rather naive when it came to matters of state as well as being very memorable for her bumpkin accent and mannerisms. It was something that was useful in a battle proper, but not in this circumstance.

She involuntarily sighed. The perfect choice could not be had. Strong, wise, crafty: Ike would have been at the head of this operation without a second thought, and had performed a few stealth operations in his service to her during the wars she fought alongside with him. He would have been the best candidate for this. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be found.

Her mind moved to Geoffrey, a good choice in most circumstances whenever there was a problem that needed to be removed. Brace, loyal, courageous, and he had his own score to settle with the fallen duke. There was no doubt in her mind that if the two were to cross blades, Geoffrey would be the one to carry the day. Rather, her concerns were aimed at Geo's character. Discreet was rarely a word in his vocabulary, and if he was given this mission, he would rally his entire company of Royal Knights and begin the ride to the White Forest regardless of the consequences. He was talented in many things, though unfortunately this was not one of them.

Elincia shook her head. There was only one person she trusted that could carry this out to the best of her abilities. Trouble was it would hamstring Marek's progression to becoming an Overlord, but damn it Bastian left her no other option.

Lucia was her first amongst equals, and was more than willing to do unsavory acts to keep the Empire together. She spied, sabotaged, and killed on the Queen's orders many times though the latter was always the last resort when a single arrow or thrust of the blade saved entire armies. Usually these were bandit lords or pirates that were getting too strong to simply ignore. This shouldn't have been any different, but given the past events this would not be as simple as asking a favor.

She signed the piece of paper, folded it quickly and stuck a piece of blue wax into a nearby candle. After the wax began to run down to her fingers she stabbed it down with a twist on the tip of the envelope before marking the hot wax with the winged rose of the dual Empires. "We will talk more about this later, and I do not want a breath of this to pass to any others." She lowered her voice so that only Bastian could hear her. "For all of your proclamations, you seem to be eager to throw the love of your life into mortal peril quite easily." She rose from her desk, handed the letter she had written to Titania to the garf and shot a look at Bastian, telling him to leave, and he did so with a bow.

Tibarn waited until the door was closed before he spoke. "I understand that this is uncomfortable, especially to the beorc mindset, but this is not a rare occurrence for us in the tribes."

Elincia let some air out of her nose, in the mixture of a dismissive snort and an ironic laugh. "Small wonder your tribes never reached our population numbers even though you breed like hares in heat. Your constant warring amongst yourselves over who should be the leader of a raid or who gets to mate are excessive as they are ridiculous."

Tibarn narrowed his own eyes. "The same could be said with your customs, especially with large noble families."

"Perhaps." Elincia said as she removed the blue and white dress, which was beginning to become rather uncomfortable. She tossed it aside, and sorted through her own wardrobe for something much simpler. She grabbed a simple orange and faded yellow dress, and as she struggled to place it back on, Tibarn was quick to assist in that manner. She shook her head and turned back to him as she made the final adjustments. "I am frustrated with you, but I will not let the sun set with me being angry. I just wish this is all a misunderstanding and this is simply unnecessary. But I fear it is not, and the repercussions need to be contained."

Tibarn grunted in affirmation. "His head is one that should not be brought to us at this time." Elincia nodded, though to be perfectly honest it was not one she wanted to collect at all. The faster Ludveck could be forgotten about, the better. She left the room and had to go ask a friend for perhaps the biggest favor she could.

Her mind moved past the rebellion and thought of the present. Geoffrey had little patience for the proceedings, and it would seem that Marek was inheriting that fact as well. They were traits that did not bode with the other nobles of any standing. She needed Marek to be the Overlord of the North. He had the ingenuity, the drive, and the right last name.

Even if it meant breaking tradition, she would see him placed upon the throne of the north. As he said, another tempest was coming. She needed the best for when, not if, it comes.

* * *

"And what made you think that you could have lime tart at this hour without telling me?" Lucia asked Paris with a smile as she pulled some from the platter and rested her elbows on the table as she dug her fork into the treat. They were in the kitchen by themselves, lit by the fires of a few candles and the crackling logs in the oven. "I trust you enjoyed yourself this evening."

Paris nodded enthusiastically and she ruffled his hair. He had enjoyed himself very much through the evening, Bastian told her when she met him in the hallways. The play had actually been a puppet show that he put on for him and other children and it was very well received. On the way back, Bastian had treated him to a bakery that was closing for the evening and got an untouched tart all for himself. Now the two were alone, spending some quality time with each other as Oscar was not far away in case someone got the idea to carry out a threat on the little lord's life.

"Mommy, can I ask you a question?" Paris asked as his mother poured both of them some iced milk with two strands of saffron and some mint leaves mixed in with it. Now that the fun was over, he remembered his visit with the blue man and the knife man today. Since he hid his coins in his room well before Bastian took him and the others off to the play, he had forgotten about it as he watched two puppet yell at each other and then at Bastian before attacking his guardian despite them being his puppets.

"Of course." She said as she slid the goblet over to him.

"Does Marek have an older brother?" The second the words left his mouth, Paris knew his mother regretted him saying it. She instinctively shrunk back, just for the shortest of moments as if she had recoiled from a punch. Paris felt his throat go dry as his mother tried to hide her shock and annoyance.

"Why do you ask?" What could he say, he gave the man in blue his word that he wouldn't say anything. But he couldn't lie to his mother, she would tan his hide! He desperately thought of something.

"I saw an older man tonight who looked like Marek and since he had younger brothers…" It was a half-truth, but it must have been convincing enough as Lucia just sank down into a chair. "Did I upset you, mommy?"

"No, oh no. You could never do that. You just brought up… some memories." Lucia said as she shook her head, and gestured for Paris to come over and sit on her lap. He did so, and wrapped his small arms around her neck to give her a comforting hug and kiss. She smiled at the effort, took a deep breath of air and looked over to the oven fire. With the snapping and crackling of the sappy logs, she conjured old memories. "His name was Ludveck. He was a man I have many feelings about. I see the bad in him but I cannot deny the good he had even unto the very end."

Paris sat close to his mother, and listened to her describe this man. "He was as tall, even when we were first introduced as children no older than yourself I thought he was as tall as a tree. Once we got older, he still stood a good head and a half over me. He was also handsome, his hair was always full bodied and he never had a smile away for long. We grew up practically together, my father/your grandfather Rogan and Ludveck's father Sicarius were close friends for many years. For the longest time, I thought we were cousins or similar family by how often we saw each other."

She smiled at the memories. A few stood out in particular. It was during the late summer when the sunlight was thick as honey and the evenings were bright. She remembered chasing Ludveck through their family orchard playing with twigs as if they were swords. It was nothing special, but she just remembered the childish revelry in their mock fights, something they did with training weapons once they had gotten older, and understood each other in different lights. "He was kind, smart, and very early on he played the role of a suitor for me. It was part real, another part comedic jests that would put Bastian to shame." She shared that laugh with her son as they thought of it. "There was one moment, I think we were both about fifteen at the time, we were sparring with wooden training swords and he boasted how he could beat me with one hand behind his back. After two minutes, he pulled out a bundle of wild flowers he hand been hiding with the hand behind his back. He did that right as I started to finish my swing which knocked him in the head, sending him tail over teakettle to the ground. He laughed but had a dark egg on his head for two weeks."

"What happened? Why does his memory bring such pain?" Paris asked and he swore his mother was fighting back tears. She sniffed and wiped the moisture away from the edges of her eyes.

"I loved him, Paris. I loved him with all of the fire and passion of a first time love, and even after we had to attend ourselves to our duties, I still let those old feelings blind me to what he was capable of. He… did not like the way things were going when Aunt Elincia took the throne. Some say this was burning at the back of his mind for a while, while others point to an advisor who stoked the flames. In the end, it doesn't matter too much I suppose." She said sadly, and drank some more of her milk. "When I found out some of the things he did, I couldn't believe it. I wore a mask of acceptance around others, but inside I could not believe it. The man I knew and grew up with… you cannot just change your opinion overnight about him. When I finally accepted that this was true, I confronted him about it and he made it clear that I was not going to go anywhere with that information."

She stumbled again, and Paris wanted her to stop if it was causing her heart to break, but he could feel that his mother wanted to tell him this story. Maybe not today, but it was a talk that would have come for him sooner rather than later. "He… did things that I will not explain to you. He hurt me and made me afraid for my life, not the queen or my brother, but just my own. No one has been able to do that before or since then. Though even in the depth of this hatred and malice, I saw a spark of the person that was still there."

Lucia shook her head and ran her fingers through her son's thick locks. "He was eventually caught and punished for what he did. I know he was sent to a faraway land where he couldn't hurt anyone else. I miss the man he was, before he did the wrong thing. But I have to be thankful, he did give me something through that terrible experience."

"What was it mommy?" Paris asked with eyes wide open. Before she could tell him the gift she was given, the door to the kitchen opened and in the form of Elincia entered with a simple dress. Despite living in the same castle and seeing her at least twice a day, Paris leapt from his mother's lap and rushed over to the queen. "Auntie Elincia!"

Elincia stepped down and scooped Paris off the ground with a laugh as the young tot wrapped his arms around her neck in a hug. "Oh look at you, going to big and strong as the King one day." She joked and the put him back down on the table and gave a warm, though very conflicted smile to her dear friend.

* * *

Kalidor flexed her steel talons as she moved through the quiet hallways of the castle, each one a dagger dripping with venom. She despised her hawk form when it came to handling business like this. Though it could be very intimidating, she prefered to rip and tare into her prey with hands rather than claws. The laguz may have been the ones that embraced the act of violence, but by the goddess the beorcs made it an art. She wanted to feel every ounce of suffering she inflicted and the sensitive skin of her unshifted form was the best.

She moved through the hallways of the castle with ease, her enhanced senses detecting every movement from inhabitants of the rooms to the guards patrolling. She had hoped that Marek could have arranged this meeting anywhere but here, though hope proved to be a fickle mistress. She would wet her blades in the blood of this excuse of life in a short amount of time, but first she had to avoid being caught.

She had to avoid _him_. She may have been older and stronger, but this was still his home, and familiar scents traveled as fast as bad news.

Kalidor walked through the eaves of the hallway, stepping into incense lased boards as soldiers dressed in overly decorated armor patrolled the hallways, the scent of some narcotic hung in the air around him. Tobac from the smell of it, the only way humans could stay awake for such extended periods of time. Granted, with the cold front moving in from the North Sea promising torrents of rain tonight, any comfort even one found at the end of a pipe would be something worthwhile.

Once he passed, she dropped from the roof and made her way to the library. This is where Marek said he would be and this lord would be at. She tensed her hand that had the daggers and slowly opened the door with the other. She expected to hear some conversation, accusations, or maybe even violence.

She knew things were wrong when she heard nothing. As she opened the door she didn't see any evidence that Marek had even been here. None of his wine was there, no books, not even a cloak. She didn't even find a mark of evidence that his cheeky bodyguard had been there.

Something was very wrong indeed.


	14. Chapter 14

"Caliban. Lord Caliban?" Caliban paused in his stride, and though he could not see in the traditional sense, he did the appropriate thing and turned his head to the direction of the sound. Though the blindfold was a comfort to wear, he did enjoy the touch of cool air on his long dead eyes, though the grey scarred pupils uneased many.

He did not recognize the voice, though he could identify that the individual was an aged one, who spoke with a wheeze and a clack of a cane coming at him. Then there was an odor of sandstone and savory spice to the individual in question. Raven, definitely one of them. The old figure stopped next to the newly returned noble and despite the arthritis in his joints, stood to his fill height with the assistance of the cane. "I am him. I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Lord…?"

The raven scoffed and cackled at the title and batted it away with his hand. "Please, I am no lord in title, perhaps even less so in manners. I am but a humble diplomat for my people. They call me Nealuchi, and I can't think of a better name for you to call me." He then slouched with the pain becoming too overbearing.

"Very well, Nealuchi." Caliban stated and made the gesture for the venerable envoy to walk with him. "Now that introductions are out of the way, I can say that you did not seek me out just to exchange pleasantries at this hour." The two were alone in this section of the castle, one mainly populated with servant quarters for the attendants of the royal family. Butlers, maids, scribes, accountants, the like. It was quiet, only the flickering torches provided the only companions as the two walked down the halls.

"Indeed. You are as straight forward as you were in the morning, and the young nestling noble you defended today." Nealuchi stated, and Marek instinctually winced at the term. Nestling? Perhaps by raven standards, but Marek was just entering his adult years, well out of nappies and wet nurses. Marek, and his brother especially, would not enjoy such a title given. "I am given permission by one of my masters to speak to you about such a delicate matter."

Caliban arched an eyebrow. "Unusual. All leaders of the birds seem to deal directly when it comes to matters of succession, to guarantee that their words and stances are not to be misinterpreted. What makes this a different case, one that allows a more… human element to the cloak and dagger of the politics of the new kingdom?"

"You are correct, though if traditions were to be kept, I can assure you that some very notable and powerful birds would draw the ire not only from their peers but others who could use this to their advantage." The wizened raven stated in a manner of fact tone, and stabbed the air with his cane as if he was to empathize the point. "I imagine you would know which of them have sent me."

"Well there are only three to choose from, so I won't waste my breath guessing. Eventually, two answer to one. The strongest. The one who leads the united tribes. Also, I doubt that Naesala would have much interest beyond ruling over his islands regardless of the long term investment. Forgive me for saying it, but the Raven Lord seems content being the master of his wife and state, nothing more. If you have something to speak, then say so. Otherwise, we draw ourselves as targets for those who would seek to destabilize the world around us." Caliban spoke with brashness, in part because he was not one for such small talk the diplomats were famous for, and he was developing a pounding head ache. It felt as if there was a drum behind his eyes, beating a familiar and painful rhythm.

Thankfully, Nealuchi did not take any insult to the tone. "You speak the truth about the nestling. He may not admit it, but I whipped his bottom when he was an infant so I know a lot about him. Indeed, he is a crafty one, but not as strong at the one who sends me to talk, and the one you alluded to. He has… concerns about the boy's heritage." As if sensing Caliban's next statement, the diplomat continued. "I do not mean that the treason by which his brother committed, it is something more related to his family."

"Elaborate, please."

The raven paused and leaned against a cold stone wall, near a window that lit up with a bolt of lightning every once in a while. After rested for a moment, Nealuchi continued. "His father, Sicarius, married later into his years than normal amongst his peers and had children at an equally late stage in his life. His father before him did the same, and so on for as long as the family tree goes closer to the roots. The men married later and had offspring later in life. My lord holds a reservation about that fact. Should, goddesses forbid, something happen to Marek, who inherits his throne? Two brothers who are just beginning to form compound sentences as worthy heirs? It is a possibility that makes my master unsure for the future with the vipers in court."

"As it does my own." Caliban relied and winced as his headache continued. The pain became a more familiar ember that smoldered inside of his head. No, not here. Not bloody now. The blood in his veins went cold and he tried to distract himself with the conversation. "What are you suggesting, envoy?"

Nealuchi flexed his wings and then pushed off the wall so he could walk with the young blind lord. "With the release of the curse of the branded, there is more openness and acceptance between the races of children between a beorc and laguz. And with a young lord ascending to a position of high power, he will be bombarded with offered daughters and sisters. My master has suggested that a union between the tribes and another powerful Crimean noble would create lasting bonds between the two nations. And since the woman would not lose a feather of her identity, several powerful hawks would like to ensure their family line is connected to that bond."

Caliban could not help but laugh at the suggestion. "An arraigned marriage? It is my knowledge that the birds mate only with the one powerful enough to keep the mate down and away from others. You believe that not only the woman but the father or brother would 'go native' and adopt a beorc custom?"

"I said nothing of arrangement. If the young Marek at least makes it known that he will consider courtship with the bird tribes, my master assures me that all of the delegates will follow his decision. Ambition is as part of the birds as the wind that passes over their wings when they take flight. Marek could seek hands, and if he is strong enough, he will find a worthy mate to sire strong sons and wise daughters. And if something should happen, there is an adult to replace him until his children or brothers reach of age to rule." The diplomat made a strong case. Marek was young, and if something were to happen to him, the consequences would be disastrous.

"Why did you come to me with this? I am sure Marek should have been the one you told about this. I am but a newly returned noble who has made no friends." Through his pounding headache, Caliban cautiously reached out and probed the intentions of Nealuchi. He sensed nothing. The true thoughts of this raven were hidden behind mental barriers as strong as stone.

"Talk would have spread faster than it should. Anti-laguz sentiment still reigns strong amongst the nobles and their subjects. Were he to be seen, I do not doubt that he would have more enemies than he does now. Opening himself up to the idea of an interracial marriage, on what seems like his own accord, will win him the support of the reformers and the traditionalist support for appearing to toy with the idea to manipulate the tribes to vote his way. I- Lord are you ok?" Nealuchi asked and Caliban wiped his nose, the smell of rusted iron overwhelmed him as he realized he was bleeding.

His hands clasped his walking staff in a dead man's grip, and the burning ember erupted into an inferno. The pounding resumed, loud and deafening. Anger now consumed him, hot and heavy flowing like burning oil. Voices came from the darkness calling, no _chanting_ , his name. Voices thick with an aristocratic accent. Foreign yet familiar.

 _Join us… join us… join us… in the house of damnation._

"Lord Caliban." The shake drew him back into reality, and Caliban released a breath he did not know he had been holding. He moved his head around, the pain vanished as quickly as it came. They were getting worse. Being so close to those who fought his kind years ago must have put the dead souls that hungered for him to join them to anger.

"Leinkin, Valtome, Yuma, Zelgius, all of you… I will join you in whatever hell you currently reside in soon enough. But not today." Caliban muttered under his breath as he brought himself back to his full height and used a handkerchief to wipe his nose and chin free of the blood. "Apologies, sir, these migraines are particularly powerful. When I find the appropriate time, I will bring this information to Marek and I am sure that he will be able see truth in these words."

"Indeed, I hope so. Have you seen the local healer? Mist has been quite the caretaker from what I hear." There were others coming down the hall, and Caliban offered a short bow to the aged raven. "I hope to discuss more with you, young lord." It was a way to end the conversation to end without any of the newcomers appearing suspicious about what the two were saying.

Though as the blind noble left, Nealuchi frowned. His hearing was still sharp, and he heard the names for several enemies, names that should be forgotten. He needed to keep an eye on this one. Few survived the fight against Ashera on her side, and what they were capable of was something that would shame the rumors he heard of the Flayed Ones.

Nealuchi shivered and walked in the opposite direction. He had done his duty to Tibarn, but now he had more news to deliver. He did not look forward to facing the Hawk King when this was mentioned. As he hobbled away he hummed a few bars to a song he had heard on his way to visit by some minstrel. "Fires come for thy noble house, you lord with the honor of a louse…"

* * *

"I understand you said that the acid buildup hasn't decreased since I started you on the previous tonic, so I made something else that you may want to try instead." Mist said to Bastian as she placed down the trey on his writing desk. The count nodded as Mist uncorked a yellow bile colored elixir and poured it into a mixture of honey and mint to sweeten the taste.

"My thanks, healer." She winced, hating the title as it made her seem as if she was just one out of a dozen. Regardless, she poured the concoction into a ceramic container and handed it off to him. She saw the familiar face of Volke, without his usual bandana sitting at a tea table next to the fire place with snapping logs filled with sap. The two were in the middle of a cribbage game when she came around with the latest batch of tonics for the residents of the castle.

She was thankful that she had to deal with just simple illnesses and conditions, nothing exotic like the plague or swamp lung. Bastian had a stomach that was as fickle as the season of spring on the northern coast, which led to frequent heartburn. The most serious was the chief librarian of the castle archives, who suffered gout through the entirety of his left foot. The birds treated themselves, a hangover fear from the days of Izuka that never went away, so she focused entirely on treating beorcs. There was the occasional 'social illness' she had to address that came from nights in establishments like the Sullied Heron, but those were often in the knight corps and rare was the occasion they came to her for something to make the burning go away.

Bastian threw his head back and drank the foul smelling concoction. It must have tasted as bad as it looked and smelled, the normally controlled and reserved count made a twisted face followed by a sharp exhale of air. "Me hopes the old saying is true. The bitter medicine reaps the best cure."

Volke shuffled his hand of cards behind the Count, as if calling Bastian back to their game. "There is such a thing as the leaves from the spider sumac plant. Odorless, tasteless, and relives all ailments in an hour. Would you like to try them or resume this game where five thousand gold is on the line? We wagered for coin, not conversation."

"Remember, take this three times a week, ideally when the pain of your indigestion shows telltale signs. If the results do not show within the next month, let me know and I will be sure to change your prescription." Mist picked up her trey and left the two alone to continue their game. Volke was a man of few words, but hold him apart from coin and he could get a little talkative.

She walked down the hall, hearing the rumble of thunder outside and the shaking of the windows as a boom came a little too close to the castle. She breathed a thanks to fortune that she was in a building made of stone rather than her small cabin back at Griel's retreat. There was something comforting in the cold stone that made her feel safe during the stormy seasons. She figured it must be the same for those who had to endure a siege in the walls so long as the food survived. However, she did not want to tempt fate and have to experience that.

She reached her room, and opened the door with a sigh. The first thing she did was take off her leather shoes and kick them haphazardly about. Mist put the trey down and looked over to the hearth, and smiled as she saw a familiar face reclining with her legs over an arm of the tall back chair. "Took you long enough. I was wondering if I was going to drink all of this vodka by myself."

"Please, had I known you brought spirits with you, I would have come sooner." Mia smiled as Mist joshed with her. The knight had her sword lay close by to her, so that it would not impede the use of her hands to hold clear glasses of the local spirit of choice. Mist sat in the chair next to Mia and sipped the spirt, appreciating the harsh flavor. "Mcconnl's vodka?"

"Yes, apparently he filtered this batch with oak charcoal so there is supposed to be this aftertaste I am not sensing. Oh, by the by, the courier came by with this letter. I was the good burglar and didn't take a peek." Mia said as she handed Mist a scroll bound in simple twine.

Mist snatched the parchment out of her hand when she recognized the handwriting as her husband's. She tore the twine free and unrolled the paper and devoured every word. She read it once, then twice, then three times to make sure she understood everything her thrill seeker of a mate wondered into. "Oh that thick headed farmhand." She muttered under her breath as she drank more of the vodka. She read the note one final time before she placed it with the others. She huffed and put her lips around her drinking glass again.

"Boyd talking about colony work again?" Mia asked.

"Yes, and he just informed me that he is staying for another month because of the doubled salary. Ever since there was discovery of a jungle in the ashen wastes beyond the mountain range, Boyd always wanted to go somewhere new and have the thrill of being the one to say first." Mist said and drug the footstool over to her place near the fire. "Goddess take him, he always brags about the new things he sees and tries to describe them to me. What am I to know what a "Lavender Barking Frog" looks like when he writes 'it looks like a frog but uglier'?"

"Pride is the biggest reason for his bloated head, there is not enough room to fry more in the brain pan. I imagine if someone told him that no one had claimed the top of a mountain, he would climb it without a second though." Mia said offhandedly, but the look Mia was given to her told the dear friend that she may not be far off. "I mean, you aren't stripped for coin even with your various donations to outreach services in the capital. Even if they were to find the ruins of some civilization that existed before the Zunanma's or us, what valuables besides actual gold would he see to loot? I doubt he would see the value of a weaved picture or carving."

The two didn't respond as they continued to drink, letting the question hand in the air as they finished two more glasses each. Vodka was Mist's weakness, due in no small part to Titania's influence during the Mad King's War. It eased the pain when Dad died, and one glass was more than enough to make Mist light in the head. Three was another matter entirely. She was still there but with significantly less social grace.

Mist shook her head and placed her empty glass aside as she made some gesture with her fingers. "I mean, is he scared of the fact I fatten the coin purse? Is that the reason he goes on these things?" Before Mia could answer, Mist waved the thought aside. "Forget it, I don't want to know the answer for myself. Got any more letters for me? " She picked up the stack of papers under her trey, realizing that she placed it there. "Hrm, I must have taken a letter from one of my stops. And that is Bastian's flowing hand…"

Her voice soon trailed off as she began to mouth the words, something she did when she was truly drunk. "Go on then, what does the jester say?" Mia asked, smiling like a teenager hearing some juicy gossip. There was no seal on it, so there was no way to prove that they actually read it.

Mist cleared her voice and attempted her most pampered tone. "Lady Calill, I write to extend to you my utmost appreciation with the recent events. Again, thank you for the use of your backroom as I conducted business with several friends. Now I am afraid I must call upon another favor, after all my patronage does keep the General Ike's Inn full with guests. I fondly remember you being one to master the power of warp dust over long distances. I am sure that with my combined powers we could reach the other end of the continent. I know you will not do such a tremendous undertaking without knowing the reasons for my extravagant request. Know that I have acquired the best dagger-men coin could afford to hunt down and eradicate the… oh goddess that isn't right…"

Mist looked over the sentence over and over again. Mia saw the look of concern take over. The devil may care attitude mere moments earlier vanished and now Mist had a look Mia was familiar with. Fear laced her face. Mist stood up suddenly, and almost fell down to the hard floor as a result. She steadied herself, and ran as fast as she could balance herself to find someone.

She left the note, and Mia picked it up. She was about to read it again, but slowly the paper grew hot in her hand, searing with intensity so much so that she dropped it the moment before she found the spot Mist had left. As it floated to the ground, the edges began to blacken and smoke. Soon fire erupted at the center, burning the parchment to cinders that fell harmlessly to the stone floor. Mia turned around in the room and saw no one.

She saw nothing, heard nothing, and couldn't even smell the earthly scent of burned vellum. The work of a skilled sage, that much was certain.

She looked back to the pile of ash that had once been a letter. Politics was more than blades hidden by smoke and mirrors. Whoever Bastian was killing was powerful enough to get a response that required that much secrecy, Mia knew that sooner or later it would be revealed.

She stood with her back to the fire, hand placed on hilt of Alondite. It was still there, no magic could take it from her, and that reassured her.

* * *

"By the blood of Altina." Marek swore under his breath as the northern winds picked up. His cloak whipped around his form, cracking in the wind as he moved back and forth on the stone balcony. He held an elongated blade in his hands, live steel that pulsed with some arcane wards inscribed down the fuller of the blade. In the distance, there was a rumble of thunder that came from the seas, a tempest was coming to shore.

Marek held the blade in front of him on the top of the high tower, and began to move through the blade disciplines exposed to the elements. It was something Geoffrey had recommended to him to do in addition to normal training. It was supposed to calm one down and release all of the violent frustration that could erupt at the most inopportune time. He had seen Geoffrey lose his temper a few times, but never in the heat of battle.

And what was politics but battle where you got to eat and drink while you defeat your enemy?

Marek could see why his brother and Geoffrey preferred war compared to politics. Fighting is simple: kill the person in front of you before they can kill you. With politics, there is no way to tell who your allies are or who you are supposed to degrade until they do what they want unto you. Hate flowed all around him in the Hall of Tellius, not just for him but the peers of the real against each other.

Renning asked, in between thinly veiled insults at him and his brothers, why Marek spent so much time in the library. Knowledge was power, it was perhaps more powerful than a sword thrust or a well-placed arrow. In reading, he understood the generation old conflicts the Crimean noble families had embroiled themselves into. It was not uncommon for houses to have decade long feuds, even over something as trivial as who owned a pig when both of them where smallfolks before they were raised to the peerdom. Goddess take him, it was frustrating.

Marek swung the one handed long sword around, making sure that his body was positioned correctly as he made the movements he was trained to do. Swing, cut, parry, riposte, hack, thrust, repeat. A dim light from the runes casted a silver hue around him, illuminating the grey stone beneath him as he sliced through the darkness. His strokes were heavy and brutal, at odds with the idea of controlled fencing posture and strikes.

He let his mind drift to familiar places as he fought the rain, slicing through the thick air as the winds brought the suffocating cold. He thought of those who taught him how to handle the blade. Each one taught him a different way to swing sharpened steel, a different mindset when it came to the battle. Images of past sparring sessions with the many figures who had trained him over the years.

He remembered his brother's session. Ludveck always made time for his siblings, even during the days leading to the end of his rebellion. Sparring was something both of them enjoyed. In his lessons, Marek learned not to play to the power of others. Often times Ludveck would batter him aside with a simple blow from his shield. It was both a sparring lesson a one in humility as well. If Marek could be bested in a single blow, then surely there was someone who could disarm him completely with a single word.

He brought his blade to a guard stance and adjusted his footing as the next series of maneuvers came to his mind and the body reacted with a trained instinct. Geoffrey was a similar instructor, but whereas his brother taught him the basics and Mia would expand on those in the past few days, Geoffrey had taught him to hone both mind and body. Battle was at its core, at least to Geoffrey's mind, a form of meditation. The Knight Commander was by no means a war hound, but he made constant references to 'the altar of battle and the communion of violence'.

He swung the sword through the air, cutting the droplets of rain. He could feel motes of his tension building up in the back of his head wash away with the water. He then felt something else, a pressure that came in from the outside and bore down on his frame. It was uncomfortable, and in a moment, familiar.

Marek blinked as he finished the final set of movements just as the rain began to pour down his face. It had to be his nerves coming back to pester him, then when he saw the light reflect back at him with the shining of polished steel, he knew it wasn't. He brought the sword back to a defensive stance. The rain picked up and while the lightning that cracked overhead and the radiance illuminated from his blade did not show the face of his assailants, the outline in the rain showed him their true numbers.

Fifteen. Fifteen against him with their knives raised.

And they began to move to him.

Marek sighed and felt his heart calm down with the realization that it would be over soon. He did not delude himself with the idea that this could be won alone. This wasn't the way he wanted to die, but he knew that dying in his bed surrounded by friends and loved ones was never in his future.

He closed his eyes and took in one final breath of the raw air before the knives would come for his flesh.

Suddenly there was a screaming followed by the sound of bones tearing itself apart. He heard a pair of boots slam down next to him and he opened his eyes to see the wild figure of Kalidor before him, silver claws stained with blood and one assassin dead on the ground. "I am certainly glad to see you." He whispered with deceptive calm.

She snarled and let loose the wail of a hawk at the others, who to their credit did not back down. "Shut up and fight." She responded and threw herself into the maelstrom of anger and violence, with Marek not far behind.


	15. Chapter 15

When the first dagger stabbed into his skin, Marek thought about the afterlife. He thought about reuniting with his brother once again in the halls of their ancestors, to see the man before he succumbed to madness. He thought about what he would say to him, what they would do for the rest of eternity.

Then the second dagger slashed across his stomach, and Marek realized that he was far from dead. He could figure out what to say later. He battered against on coming assassins with all of his training, but he was still outnumbered even with Kalidor tearing into them. From watching the King spar with Geoffrey or Renning, Marek assumed that the Hawks would turn into their gifted form in an instant but she seemed to hate transforming.

She fought with literal tooth and nail, slashing out with her dagger gloves across the faces and chests of the assassins while her teeth sank into their exposed flesh when they got too close to her. She was a whirlwind of violence, and against the dagger wielding assassins she was more than their match. She screamed her infernal rage into the storm that whipped all around them, cutting and slicing.

These assassins were skilled, but Marek knew that they were goons more than anything. Not because those who fought for coin were nothing but brutes, but because he recognized their weapons. In the light of his blade, he had seen a wicked curve on the blades that were both of combat design and agricultural needs. The blades were bent at a gentle angle, they were designed as hacking weapons to clear dense foliage commonly found in the southern swamps of Crimea that bordered the Begnion border.

Well, at least he didn't need to hold any reservations about who these men belonged to. In all honesty, he _had_ expected that Erebus would be the one to be fully in charge of this, but upon reviewing tax records, the land Erebus was lord over was among the poorest in the nation. Even with hidden reserves from other means such as by slavery, throwing such income around would draw attention of many. He knew the true enemy now, it was the one Kalidor had spoken of when they first met in the whorehouse. Not that he doubt the possibility,he just felt he had to explore other avenues first.

Kalidor ducked to the side as another dagger came at her, and she grabbed the arm that threw it, and popped it out of the socket. Before the man had chance to scream his pain she ran the dagger claws through his temple and tossed the twitching body over the edge of the battlement. A fireball thrown by a mage killer slammed into her side, causing her to yelp out in pain at the surprise. Another assassin was about to stab her in the back but Marek did the deed on him first, thrusting the blade through the back of his neck and pulled it to the left, partially decapitating the would be assailant.

Kalidor was blooded, and in that rage she threw herself into the maelstrom of battle with abandon. She was going to fight and win or fight and die. Claws wrested flesh like ribbons from bodies, tearing muscle and bone free. Marek tried to keep up, but his inexperience was showing. Training to kill was different from the actual deed. He could defend himself and kill those who were going after another with their back turned, but now locked eye to eye with another man… he felt doubt creep into his veins.

He didn't need to worry long before Kalidor stabbed her hands into the kidneys of the killer. Marek felt blinded as blood dripped into his eyes. He did not know how much time had past, but there were soon only a handful of assassins left, and Kalidor looked more angry than tired. She slowly advanced on the remainders, and the mage quickly flipped pages and shot another fireball out at her, which she then took eaily in stride though it smoldered a few of her feathers. "Back, back you deamon wench!"

"Wench?" Kalidor snarled and drive her daggered fist through the battle mage's stomach, causing the arcane manipulator to drop the tome as he was lifted off the ground. "I am Kalidor of the Phoeonicis Islands, first born of the prime raptor nest! The true queen of the Bird Tribes! I will be shown the proper respect that I deserve. Since your throat will not say anything kind, I will remove the offending organ."

She was true to her word, and the mage died before he fell to the ground after she tore his windpipe from him with her dagger claws. Two more charged at her, but were easily dispatched.

There was one more that tried to escape, but before he got far five black ravens pounced him and tore him to pieces with talons. "Do not worry, the carrion eaters will clean them up before long. No need to be afraid." She looked over to Marek, as the rush of battle fled his veins he became acutely aware of the injuries that his body had sustained during the fight. He dropped the sword and sank to both of his knees, hand over his torn stomach. Blood trickled from his mouth's corner and he felt his limbs grow numb. "Tempest's rage, you look terrible."

"Imagine how I feel." He couched out. She grabbed him by one of his arms, and hefted him over her shoulder like he was a deer. There were more ravens that seemed to come out of nowhere, as if they had been waiting for her signal. Why were they not summoned into battle when they were clearly outnumbered?

Was this all another test?

"Come, I know a good healer that can… can…" She smelled the air and Marek could feel her skin grow bumps in nervousness. He glanced upward and for a moment caught the outline of a massive bird in a flash of lightning. "Hellfire, get what you can and go. Just go. He comes!" She yelled at the ravens who took to flight just as the storm picked up its intensity. "How far is your room?" She then asked Marek.

"Not too far." Kalidor swore under her breath as Marek gave his response. She opened the door to castle and moved as fast as she could, leaping down entire flights of stairs in her haste. Marek knew that these attacks would only grow bolder and bolder until he and his siblings were dead.

This had to end soon.

* * *

Geoffrey would have been appreciated for almost any reason to take him inside the castle when he had sentry duty. Even the commander had to do his share when it came to menial tasks, including during a goddess forsaken rainstorm that made the use of torches impossible to use regardless of shelter. He almost always would have been appreciative to come into the castle or barracks to sip something hot to warm his bones after a long day of trials and football.

He stressed the term almost as he moved through the hallways to his sister's room. Mist had come running to him while he was on duty and started to stammer about things she had read. After giving her a good shake to calm her down, she blurted out everything she read in a quiet tone to avoid drawing suspicion. He knocked twice before he heard her call out, saying that the door could open. He pushed on the oak and stepped in, trying not to make his waterlogged armor would drag any liquids on to the carpets in her room. Something about it being wool that needed to be dyed every time it was cleaned.

He opened the door and the first thing he saw was his sister's bed with more weapons than he knew she had laid out in a methodical order. He saw a few throwing knives, a crossbow with a few quivers of bolts laid out and most importantly the sword of her position as First Minister. She was dressed in thick clothing, furs as white as sun bleached linen and tall riding boots designed to be waterproof. She looked up and flashed a smile at him. "Geoffrey, I was just about to go searching for you. Please have some tea, the kettle just boiled."

Geoffrey moved over to the fire and removed the iron kettle from the fire before placing it down on a ceramic tile. He placed loose leaves of a dark tea blend into the cup strainer before pouring the water on. He shook the leaves for a moment before he continued to speak. "Now Lucia, what can this drowned rat do for you? I have a storm to get back to and then a cold bed afterwards." Geoffrey asked, his tone making no mistake of how annoyed he was. He appreciated the warmth of the castle, but he had his duty outside on the walls. He sipped some of the tea offered to him once it had seeped enough. It was warm, bitter but wholesome. Some of the best he had and it made his mood more conflicted.

Lucia finished tying the belt around her waist, where her sword now hung at its side. "If you hope that your dramatic flair will one day best those of Bastian's, you are clearly delusional with your youth."

Geoffrey snorted into his tea. "Just because you came into this world three years ahead of me doesn't make you a judge of everything I do."

"Well I do seem to be the level headed of the two of us." She responded to the jab with one of her own, and before Geoffrey could return that response with another one, she spoke again. "The queen has given me a mission of vital importance to the realm. One that must be attended to immediately, despite all circumstances surrounding us. I just need to let you know until my return, you are to be Marek's sole councilor."

Geoffrey felt one of his eyebrows twitch unintentionally. There were fewer words he wanted to hear come out of his sister's mouth than those ones. With great restraint, he placed the cup down on the table and walked over to her. "Elincia must be drunk. You know as well as I do that I do not have the head for handling these legal proceedings. Give me a sword to put in my hand than a scroll of parliamentary procedures. Without you, there is a good chance some highborn vermin will take control of the position of Overlord. Someone I will eventually have to bow to as my respective leader when I return home to Delbray since you refuse to take the position of leadership."

Lucia turned to face her brother with a foul look in her eyes. "I serve best where I am at. And she was not drunk, though when she gave me the orders to carry out this imperative mission I could tell that she wanted to be as plastered as Malakov on his weekly benders. She is my regent and I will follow orders given to her no matter what may be happening in my life at this moment. She points and I will obey."

"Loyalty to the betterment of the nation or to something on the periphery that can be resolved at a later date and time? Such as, say, a former suitor and traitor not as dead as Elincia wanted?" Lucia poorly hid her shock, and Geoffrey could not help but take some satisfaction in the surprise. "Bastian is quick to forget that he isn't the only one with eyes and ears. They may not be as subtle as his, but they work just as well."

"Then you of all people know how important this is!" Lucia yelled at him.

"We have more pressing concerns than having someone slit... his throat. Let him freeze to death with the forest and we can deal with him when the proper time comes." Geoffrey responded in an equal tone but with a lessened volume. He knew that the walls often had ears, and he did not need any more on this conversation. "Bastian made this bed, you don't have to sleep in it with him like usual."

The hand across his face was to be expected, but Geoffrey was surprised with the amount of force she put behind it. His head was knocked violently to the left side as his right cheek flared with fiery pain. "You dare? I do my duty to the realm, a lesson it seems you have not fully learned yet."

Geoffrey rubbed his wounded cheek, but refused to back down from this. "So you will leave, with ten killers neither of us know anything about, travel across a continent, and maybe find him there to kill him? Do you see how that could go wrong at any point in time? Bastian already gave them the money so what is stopping them from leaving the borders, hold you for ransom, and more money is shelled out on this useless endeavor? What would happen if you were to be killed by any number of ways? What about those you leave behind who have to relive this nightmare all over again? What about your son, for Asheunda's sake?! How do you think I can explain to him that his mother is not going to be coming back? That he has to grow up not only without a father but now the only person he truly loved in the world, do you think I can say that to him for the rest of his life?"

"And do you think I haven't considered that?" Lucia asked in a pained whisper. "Not a moment goes by when I don't think about the choices I made and how that affects him. I fought with Elincia, I practically fell on my knees and begged her not to do this because I am afraid of leaving my child alone for more than a minute at a time because I was given a threat today that said if I didn't leave this court during the trial, they will come after him. Elincia has promised me that she will not let him out of her sight or those of her trusted friends."

Geoffrey stood there for a moment, then closed his eyes as if he was making peace with himself for what he was going to say next. "The love of your son is nothing less than I would expect. A mother's love is nothing to disregard and I cannot fault you with that. But what about the country as a whole? Have you learned nothing from history, that which we love will test us and eventually we will make a choice. You are willing to sacrifice everything you-no, WE- have worked for years trying to do? If you run off, and take that encyclopedic knowledge of rules and procedures with you, do you know of the consequences that will follow this?"

"Marek is a resourceful young man, I am sure he will be able to rally the support that he needs." Lucia responded. Unbeknownst to both of them, Paris was out of the bed his mother tucked him into and looking through a crack in his door. He had never seen Uncle Geoffrey fight with mommy before, nor mommy striking someone else. "I think you underestimate both him and yourself."

"Now is not the time for false reassurances." Geoffrey hissed at her. "You do not need to run on this foolish errand because it is not right. This is not the right time, the right place, or even the right course of action. Far better we lose those florals than for us to lose you. I am satisfied with what became of him. I do not want to open these old wounds for any of us."

"How dare you lecture me about old wounds?! You were so tied up in your knight training that you could care less what I did or let alone him. Do not tell me that you have wounds that could compare to those that I carry with me." Lucia stated. Geoffrey balled his gauntleted hand into a fist and for the briefest of moments looked as if he was to strike out. He took in a deep breath and released the fist.

"I… loved him, Lucia. I loved him the only way one can to someone who you have broken fast with for seventeen years. He was as much a part of my life as he was of yours. I despise him now, but I will not forget who he was for as long as I have air to breath. I would be more than willing to see him dead if he were to ever cross into our land again and raise his sword in defiance of Elincia."

He placed his hand on her shoulder. "But I will not let you do this, not in good conscious. The Bastian I knew would not tremble at a third rate player on the edge of the theater. The King and Queen I serve would not condone such a mission before exploring other options. If they do, then I cannot follow them in to this folly."

Lucia looked at her brother, and could not deny his arguments that he made. But she would not shrink from her responsibility. Her duty to the country. "I will do as my lady asks of me, regardless of the cost to myself or others."

Geoffrey retracted his hand and placed it on the hilt of his Tempest Dao. "I cannot in all good conscious allow you to follow that order. We are Delbrays, we will not blindly march into the depths of hell like we did during the reign of King Raines the Unworthy!"

Paris shrank back at the thought, careful not to make a sound as he did earlier in the day. Raines the Unworthy, the monster who wore a crown. Mommy had used Raines as a spooky ghost story on a dark Hollow's Eve, about how he would come in the night to drain bad children of blood though their eyes. How he moved through Melior upon a fiery steed cutting off the heads of any who passed by without bowing. Could he have been real?

Geoffrey continued, his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. "We sat ideal when Raines butchered those he suspected of disloyalty, the whole kingdom did nothing as he saw daggers in every shadow. Our great grandfather aided him in slaughtering an entire city because he could not disobey an order from the king, may he burn in hell for all of eternity. The other houses may laugh and say that since they were potential victims that they should not worry about what they did during those dark years. Is it any wonder that those houses Raines did not touch are the ones who flaunt their influence and thumb their nose to the throne?"

"I am a good soldier and knight, but I am a Delbray. We have been raised since birth to bear that shame many have forgotten about. My first sworn duty is to my conscious and I will not let you go through this order. Your pointless sacrifice will bring only chaos to the realm and pain to the last of the family you have." Geoffrey finished and for a moment nothing happened. It seemed as if the rain had stopped for a moment.

Lucia broke the silence by pulling her own sword free, the light made it glisten like silver. He held it ideally in her hands for a moment before pressing the tip against Geoffrey's exposed throat. "Brother, I want no part in this, but I will not be held back from the duties my queen gave me. For the good of all, for a civil war that has to be ended for good and all, to finally close the wounds that man inflected on me…" She waivered for a moment, finding the words to say. "I must give him the peace in death he could not find in life."

Geoffrey looked down the fuller of the blade, and he knew that she had him where she wanted. He couldn't fight his sister, she knew that and he knew that as he came in here. Her mind was set, and there was nothing that he could do to sway her from that path. He removed the gauntlet from his sword and glanced over her shoulder, noting that Paris had come out of his room. Goddess forgive him, what did he see?

He took that armored hand and placed in on the sword, pushing it down. "At least say your goodbyes, you may not get another chance." He spared one final look at his sister and turned to leave, hands balled in rage at himself, Lucia, Bastian, even Elincia for ordering her to do such a thing!

He hung at the door for a moment, hearing Paris sniffling and Lucia dropping her treasured blade to comfort him. "Why mommy? Why are you and uncle fighting?"

"Paris, I wish you could understand what I am doing. Shhh shsh, dry your tears."

* * *

Marek sat down at the edge of his bed, bolts of white linen bandages covering the wounds. The vulnerary was scarring his skin, but it needed to be kept under pressure from clean bandages to be sure that it worked properly. He was more than capable of doing it on his own, but Kalidor did it far tighter than he could have. Kalidor herself was next to the vanity, a basin of fresh water dyed crimson as she wiped blood, both that of her enemy and her own, off of her form. She had removed all but her small clothes, and even those could not be seen as she flexed her wings around her body.

They were a testament to her character as well, beautiful yet chaotic and wild. Specks of white flecked her wings, and while they were ruffled from the melee and storm, a few shakes would be the thing to get them clean and groomed. "It seems that our enemies have multiplied and found out that we intend to deal with them accordingly." She snarled and ringed the cloth out.

Marek leaned over to the nightstand near his bed and plucked the jug of wine that had been cooling near window. "Indeed. I appear to have a good habit of inviting knives to be inserted into my back, though until tonight it was only metaphorical."

"Well, things have a strange way to become reality." She responded in a dry tone. Still, his eyes wandered all over her, admiring every cut of her frame. The athletic build suited her perfectly, and the scars that puckered her skin stood out like the specks on her wing. Rather than detract they only added to her beauty.

His mind then wandered to another place, and a small smirk threated to spread across to the rest of his face. His brothers were asleep, Mia as well and Geoffrey had to be on patrol duty at this hour. He was no fool to what his body as asking, he had been given the talk several times by different people. And she may have given him the means to ask her permission.

She spun around away from the vanity, the blood removed from her body and her arms folded over her chest with one of her nails scratching the front tooth on the upper jaw. "I can't bloody well fly when he is out and especially in this weather. Looks like I have to make do with this glorified prison cell they call a room for the evening." She then looked into Marek's eyes, piercing amber buried deep into his mind, and seemed to read his thoughts. "Oh, that is a look I have seen before. What are you thinking?"

Marek reached into his pocket and produced one of the iron coins she had given him a day prior. She looked at the coin, then to Marek with a somewhat of an amused smile. "Well, these coins are used to give you the service of any man or woman in my establishment." She tossed the coin aside and placed her hands on his shoulders, slowly easing him down onto the bed. "But there is nothing like a good fight to get you in the mood for fucking. I accept your proposition, but you don't get to talk and you do exactly as I say."

Marek nodded and felt more of his back be slowly lowered to the bed with her firm hand pushing him down. He felt his heart thud faster in his chest, and mentally prayed that he locked the door.

* * *

Mist was waiting for Geoffrey in his quarters when he returned from his duty she had distracted him from. He brought in trails of water that dribbled from his armor and a weary face that betrayed all of his emotions that he had usually hidden well behind a mask of calm. She walked over to him, sobered from her waiting and worrying about what she learned. She could tell that Geoffrey had met with little success in convincing his sister to change her mind, and it showed.

Where he usually reverently removed his armor and clean it, he simply unfastened the buckles and let them fall to the ground in a clank in a chaotic pile in the same manner that Boyd would do with his shoes and socks. He numbly walked over to her, soaked from head to toe with the expression of a sick man given up.

She looked into his eyes and with some unknown force telling her to do it, she wrapped her arms around him to reassure him. He was initially caught off guard, at least what she judged from his sudden shift of his waist. She felt it slowly loosen and she felt surprisingly warm hands on the back of her own shoulders and she was drawn in closer. They didn't move for a moment that seemed to lead into eternity, they just stood there holding each other as the fire in the hearth cracked and popped as the logs burned.

Mist then raised her head and looked into the tired eyes of the Knight Commander. The deep sapphires had lost their sharpness and were more welcoming. Before she realized what she was doing, she drained her neck up and claimed his lips. She felt her cheeks burn hot with embarrassment when she comprehended what she was doing and to whom. She was about to remove herself and sputter some apology for acting like a harlot before Geoffrey returned the kiss with startling passion.

Mist felt her eyes grow wide with surprise and after a moment Geoffrey ended the kiss and pulled back with his chest beating and cheeks aflame. The two looked at each other for a moment, wondering what just happened and why did they do something that was clearly wrong. For Mist, she wondered why she was doing this even though she was married by oath and deed to her husband. Geoffrey felt every iota of his knightly being scream in shame for allowing this to happen.

The thought did not last long as the two met each other in the middle with another kiss of both passion and pain. The world around the two became nothing but a blur of static objects as they released their emotions to each other. Loneliness, frustration, lust, grief and excitement blended as the two knelt to each other. They clasped hands together, calloused fingers intertwining with delicate but strong ones.

Geoffrey slid out of his tunic and Mist saw his scar puckered chest, counting all of the wounds she had healed during the many years she had known him. Her lips fell on every one, each one a reminder of his dedication to protecting her and the allies they had fought alongside. He nipped at her sensitive earlobes, eliciting a squeak of pleasure each time he tugged.

It was not long until Geoffrey carried her to his simple bed, and until they finished there was no world beyond the movement of the other followed by their response.


	16. Chapter 16, Part 1

Geoffrey should have felt ashamed for what he did last night. Not only did he take to bed a woman in distress, that same woman was married to a man who could cleave a man and his horse in half and she was a dear friend to the Knight Commander. He should have been thinking about how he would offer up something to beg forgiveness for the slight against Mist's honor.

But when he woke to the feeling of her lips against his, and the realization he would be walking a bowlegged for a while when he remembered what they did in their passion, honor went right out of his mind. He returned the kiss with one of his own gentle pecks, and Mist pulled away with a smile before she relaxed on the other side of his bed. Their clothes were still scattered about and neither seemed to be in any hurry to get them on.

They didn't speak. Both looked at the other on their sides, looking each other up and down, remembering the night in little moments with sharp clarity. He remembered her squeaks of pleasure and she recalled how he moaned with delightful surprise at the things she knew how to do. Mist looked away with a hint of shame but she returned the gaze when Geoffrey placed one of his hands under her chin to keep her face looking directly at him.

They came back together, a passionate kiss passed between them. It lasted for hours in their minds, but it was only a few seconds before Mist broke it. "I have to go to my daughter." She said the words after a moment of thinking. She rose from her bed, dressed as the day she came into the world and Geoffrey realized that he needed to get a start on his daily routine before someone came looking for them. What a scandal that would be if such a thing were to be seen with them together in such a state of undress.

They both got their respective underclothes on, though when it came for the clothes they had to wear for the day both needed the assistance of the other. Geoffrey helped Mist tie the back of her dress tightly in a neat bow with plenty of lace for her to easily change. As he worked up her back, she spoke to him. "I know what you are going to say. That this is your fault because you forsook a vow of chivalry and bedded a woman that had a husband. That you are not worthy of such a title as knight because of it." Geoffrey responded with a grunt of affirmation, realizing those were going to be the next thing out of his mouth. "Do not beat yourself up over all of this. While I am a married woman and that I do love Boyd… I have not seen him for such a long time." Her voice was low, tender and hurt at this point. Geoffrey did not say that he understood her pain. What did he know about having a spouse that was gone for long periods of time, one who was ashamed when the other one cried during the vows of their wedding, hungry for gold and glory? He had Elincia, who casted him aside for Tibarn and would order things that violated every fiber of his being. Similar, but not completely.

He gave sides a comforting squeeze when finished with the tying. She turned around and where there was once a face beset by doubt and pain, was a simple smile. Her hands found the various belts and buckles to tighten his amour once again. Geoffrey was going to say something. Something about how they should not continue this. How this could come back to hurt them if someone found out or if rumors were to fly. He was going to say that but he couldn't bring himself to say it. Not out of the sake of his honor, but hers.

"My lady, I cannot condone what I… we did last night." He changed the word when she shot him a look that could freeze molten rock. "But I understand why we did it. Perhaps that is the best that we can hope for in these circumstances. Because," he gripped her arms and looked down to her with an expression of concern that bordered on vulnerability she had never seen before, "you are here, and I am here, and the world will keep it that way for the foreseeable future."

"I understand." She responded and moved one of her hands to tightly grasp his own. "We must do our service to the realm before anything else. But what happens behind our doors should be our own business. Can I… expect to see you after dinner?"

Geoffrey felt his throat go dry at the request, but he already knew the answer as unforgivable as it was to their honors. True, other men had done worse, but Geoffrey tried to be better than 'other men'. "You may expect to see me in your chambers in the evenings, provided my duty is not elsewhere."

"Then I shall find a way to make it your duty. Come now, people must be looking for us. I do not want to cause rumors to fly." Geoffrey held the door open for her and the two made their way to their respective places. Mist had illnesses to handle and a daughter to play with. Geoffrey needed to see how his ward was doing, and make a mental note not to make Bastian choke on his teeth if he so much as referenced his sister today.

Both were unaware that a perspective, albeit hungover, indigo haired knight watched the two depart from the room at the same time. Her smile grew, not from joy at others doing wrong, but because Mia knew that it was only a matter of time before the two addressed their tension between each other. She was not expecting them to share a night and a bed as well.

* * *

Paris walked down the empty hallways of the castle by himself, having slipped past Oscar's guard as the latter talked with another knight about something he couldn't care less about. He moved through the cold and damp stone corridors, feeling the rain of last night fill the air around him and occasionally dripping on his head.

Mommy was gone. She was not in her bed, she was not taking a walk in the blooming garden, she was not in Bastian's room. He couldn't find her. She left again, something he was afraid of being used to. But the words his mother left with him late last night before she tucked him in again kept racing through his mind. In truth, he knew who uncle and mommy were fighting over, he pieced it together as she left him after signing his favorite lullaby. The words she said to him confirmed it, but what did it mean?

He made his way out of the stone hallways into the bird garden, where dozens of song birds flocked to feast on seeds and water placed in a bowl. He walked along the cobblestone pathways, knowing that this is where he would be at. He was young, and he may not understand such big words that mommy and his aunts and uncles would use, but he could see patterns in life. He noticed things and remembered them, with few children his age to play with besides Severus and Manaus, there was little else to do.

He knew that auntie Elincia always took her tea with a pinch of cinnamon and a drizzle of honey. King Tibarn usually flew around the city three times each morning before any other hawks had woken. Mommy was upset or nervous when she bit her nails. Uncle Geo always lifted his face to the clouds when rain began to fall, and Marek usually rapped his fingers when he was getting bored with a conversation. He also knew where people spent their time at any given moment of the day, usually. He wasn't perfect, but who was? Maybe mommy or uncle Geo, or Ike perhaps given the stories mommy told him.

Once he got to the bird fountain, he washed his hand, sending ripples in the reflections of himself and the surrounding area. Once he dried his hands on his trousers, thankful that he wore a dark pair, he listened to the sounds of the birds chirping, and the wind rustling. It was early morning, breakfast was being served and he already took his pine nut roll with a glass of milk earlier so he would not be eating with everyone else. Because the man he was looking for preferred to eat alone and do something private while the others were eating.

He heard it coming to his right today, something quiet amongst the wind. It was the sound of a knife tuning soil and pebbles over. The rose bushes, of course. Paris walked out the grass and moved to the thorny bushes that had buds ready to bloom and a few deep crimson ones already coming out. Using a stick laying on the ground, he pushed a few vines away and saw who he wanted to.

Volke was on his knees next to the wall, sprinkling oven dried cattle blood around the base of the roses. While Paris did not know the exact name for Volke until last afternoon, he knew that a masked man was taking care of the flowers in this section of the castle, close to where Bastian lived. Now that he knew, he could come close and speak to him.

Volke, to his credit, only looked up with one eye as he continued his work. "I am surprised you found me here." He had more than his fair share of scratches all over his face from the thorns.

"You weren't doing a good job hiding." Paris responded. "I want to speak to the man you were talking to."

Volke continued to sprinkle blood to his roses. "And these things want to be able to bloom bright by the start of summer. Doesn't mean it will happen unless you put some effort into it."

Paris wasn't blind to what he was asking. "What if I gave you all of the gold you gave me last night?" Volke stopped and placed his tray down. He stood as Paris began to untie the bag he had around his belt. He held the coin purse up to Volke, who took it and felt the weight with his hands. It was true, that was all of the coins he had given him. He drew back the stings and took a handful before passing the bag back to Paris. A sellsword refusing to take all the coin offered? That wasn't supposed to happen.

"Go back to the usual room around the same time. No one will be there and I will see if he wants to talk. No leave me alone, I have my children to feed." Volke turned Paris around and gave him a little push out. Paris did as he was told and walked back to his room.

He wanted to speak to Ludveck, he wanted to know what his mother meant when she said ' _From what he did, he gave me you.'_

* * *

Marek grunted with discomfort as he placed his formal tunic over his sore chest with a fresh change of bandages applied. The vulnerary that Kalidor had applied to him certainly had done its magic. His stomach was scabbed over and in another day either new skin or tight white scar tissue would form. It was a tad painful, but it was a better alternative than being dead.

Kalidor herself sat with her clothes already on the far side of the room, a pipe planted firmly in her mouth with puffs of smoke whisking from the corners of her mouth. "You continue to surprise me, young lord. I have seen well over a century of life, and very little surprises me."

Marek gave a hint of a leer towards her. "Tell me, was it because I survived or because I was the one who wore you out?" Kalidor smirked and continued with another long drag from her pipe. Marek could see why some men, like Bastian and the mercenary Gertie, chased skirts like there was no tomorrow if an evening of company was like that. Goddess help him, he was the one who had trouble standing even after hours of rest.

He didn't delude himself thinking that there was any romance between the two of them, not yet at least. It was a business transaction where acts of carnal desire were exchanged, nothing more and nothing less. He would not fall into that pit of being a hopeless romantic. Still, it was quite the experience with this hawk. If the King was anything like her, Queen Elincia would seldom be discontent. Thinking that brought something to the front of his mind and he was about to voice it.

There was a knock on his door and he gestured for Kalidor to stand out of the way so no one would see her. He looked through the glass peephole and saw that it was a simple servant girl with a trey of food. He made sure that his robe covered the bandages about his chest before he put his hand on the door latch. He opened the door and the girl bowed, to which Marek responded with a bow of his own. "Breakfast, my sir. Poached duck eggs, half a loaf of sourdough bread, sautéed mushrooms, two ham steaks and two pints of ale." Marek raised an eyebrow. This was a considerable amount of food that he was given, enough for two or three meals. Still, it was a poor custom to turn away food that was offered.

"You are too kind. Thank you." He took the trey and closed the door with his foot. Kalidor looked with a cocked eyebrow and Marek moved over to the small dining table, the same one where Geoffrey broke his fast a week ago in preparation for this whole damned circus. "I hope you are hungry."

"Crimean food is bland compared to the food of my homeland, but at least it is filling." Kalidor sat over next to Marek and helped herself, surprised that there was an empty plate for her to eat off of. "Did you slip out last night to tell the cook to bring extra food for me?"

Marek shook his head, a confused look on his face told her that he was unsure as much as she was. She shrugged, assuming that they had expected to find some member of his council talking with them early in the morning with him. "If you do not mind me asking a question, I have something that had been on my mind when it was not preoccupied with pleasuring you."

"Speak, I will answer it the best that I can." Kalidor said as she swallowed a poached egg whole and tore off a large chunk of her sourdough bread.

Marek paused, trying to think of the best way to phrase the question without having his own throat cut. "Last night, you said that you were the true queen of the bird tribes. I have learned the trees of many noble families, both laguz and beorcs. I cannot recall any sister of Tibarn's. What that a figure of speech or are the books leaving something out."

She chewed her bread for a moment, then reached over for her glass of dark ale. He took the pint and raised her head, downing the fortified beer in two gulps. She exhaled with a trace of anger in her voice. But she was a woman of her word, she would answer. "How old are you?"

Marek thought for a moment, dancing some numbers around in his head. "A month and a half ago, it was my fifteenth name day."

"Then this happened about sixty-five years before you were born. Had molted all of my downy infant feathers to take to the skies for a coming of age ceremony. It was to be my first Toll of the Devine."

Marek interrupted, "The trial in which the newest hawks lead a pirating raid on a ship?"

She nodded. "It is. I was born of the royal nest. No fishing ship or simple merchant would suffice. I was the heir apparent to the Sandstone throne. I needed to prove my worth in my first endeavor. Polock, the Eyes of the King at the time, mentioned that a senator's ship was nearing our waters. He did not identify which one it was or what ship it was, only that it flew the senatorial flag. I had him not tell my mother and father, who I thought would have taken the prize for themselves. I gathered my coterie, the proudest hawks who were spoiling for a fight. We took to the skies early in the morning, with the breeze to our backs and the scent of the warming sea in our noses."

She smiled, remembering the memory. " _Altina's Bosoms._ What a stupid fucking name for a ship. Shows you how proud the senators are, only matched by their lack of intelligence. It was the truth then and still is today. It was just as the sun broke on the horizon did we see what it was in all of its glory. A private treasure ship, to our most hated enemy. How could one not water at the mouth for such a prize? Finally, I would offer up my own treasures to the altar of the Goddess, I would break sapphires and rubies to fine powder and toss it to the wind to give thanks to the eternal mother! They were well armed and trained, a proper fight for a proper sacrament of carnage. Goddess what a day it was." She gripped her fists in joy, remembering how she slaughtered that day. She had raided ships before, though most were bad comedy posing as a proper scrap. This, this was the time when the thrill of battle flooded her veins for the first time.

"We descended upon the ship like driver ants to a beetle. We slaughtered everyone on board. Men, women, even the half dozen laguz slaves. These were our sworn enemies and those who stood with them were against us. I was given the privilege of gutting the senator, a fat oaf who looked like everything my people despised. I made him suffer for everything he did to our people. By the time I was finished, well, I could have fashioned a new cloak from the skin."

She smirked with melancholy. "Ironic, of all the enemies I could have killed, I had to choose the one my parents were going to speak to. A fat and greedy whoreson that senator was, but apparently he was going to discuss a reselling of slaves to the islands. My father and mother were furious, even if the riches I brought back filled the coffers and I had a diamond and emerald crown to offer up to the alter of sacrifice."

Marek nodded, "You violated what your parents hid from you. Was that truly enough to kick you from the kingdom?"

She shook her head. "No, and does it truly matter? The past is that, the past. Nothing I do now or tomorrow, or tomorrow after can change that. I could have been the ruler of the Tribes, I could wear the crown my younger brother does."

Marek shrugged and drank some from his own ale tankard. "Perhaps, though you would be married to Elincia."

"I am quite acquainted with many women through my years, and marriage to Queen Elincia would be quite palatable. I leave the interpretation to your own imagination." A chuckle was shared by both. She folded her steak into another hunk of bread and devoured it with hunger she did not know that she had. "Well, the lords of the land wake and as with the morning mists, I should disappear. I trust you will address our mutual problem, or do you need more assistance than this?" She gestured to bag and vial, and Marek shook his head. It was all that he needed. "Oh, before I forget." She tugged on her right wing, plucking a few of her primary feathers out. She placed one behind his ear, and gave a little smile that was at once beautiful and chilling. A feather from a Hawk, especially three primary flight feathers, was a special reminder.

And Marek had every intention to keep that memory.

There was a knock on his door, and the two were drawn to the voice outside of it. "Marek, I must speak with you about something." It was the Queen of all people. Marek gave a curt nod to Kalidor, who slipped to the window with unnatural grace. If such interspecies breeding was possible, Marek could be forgiven for thinking that Kalidor was half tiger laguz.

She opened the window and casually fell to breeze that took her to flight.

Marek threw on his bear pelt cloak and opened the door to find Elincia dressed in regal simplicity. "You had something to discuss with me, your grace?"

Elincia formed the words on her lips, ready to speak but then her eyes glanced upwards to the feather in Marek's ear. Marek also noticed that she was wearing those Tibarn gave her when they became engaged in the winter all those years ago in the time of the Dancing Lights. The words became a sigh and a smile formed on her lips, the kind shared when remembering both fond memories and understanding. "I have decided to delay proceedings as many guests feel unwell this morning, so I thought I could talk to you about some manner that recently came to my attention. That can wait. For now," she gestured with a hand covered in white silk, "walk with me. I think we will have much to talk about."

Marek nodded and closed the door behind him, following his queen.


	17. Chapter 16, Part 2

**I suppose I should end spring break on two positive notes. Something I should have mentioned in the previous section, this 'chapter' is broken into sections because they take place more or less at the same time. Anyway, please enjoy.**

* * *

Lucia found herself weak in the stomach again and gripped on to a snow covered branch with one hand as she forced the few remaining contents up. Goddess, teleportation by warp powder was something her body never acclimated to no matter how many times she participated in such things. The assassins that were with her were either not affected by it or they didn't show it.

It saved them months' worth of travel that much was sure. Though it was far from accurate. When Bastian had a vial of Ludveck's blood to hone the scope when Cali casted her spell with warp powder, they would get close to their target. It was a catapult's definition of close: anywhere within a ten mile radius. Not that it had bothered her before, but she wanted this to be over and done with. The sooner closure would come, the sooner she would rest more soundly.

After spitting the bile from her tongue out, Lucia reached under her fur coat to draw out the wineskin to cleanse her pallet. She threw her head back and was surprised to taste a strong whiskey. At least Bastian had the common courtesy to give her the spirit she loved before sending her out to do the work of the crown.

Because of the long distance for them to cover, Lucia had the assassins split up and cover as much ground as they could. There was the closest thing to a permanent settlement, a waystation called the Everburning Hearth, where they agreed to meet up to discuss further plans should he not be found before then.

She moved back to her horse, Oathbound, and tugged on the reigns to have the beast follow her. It was still early, and if she wanted to cover more ground when there was light out she did not want to give herself settle legs before the sun was at its height. It gave her time to think.

She thought about her son, first and foremost. She hoped soon that he would stay young for a while longer. He should have a proper childhood, though he was growing up on his own without her to be there. She missed his first words for a diplomatic mission to secure Elincia's betrothal from the council of bird tribes, and though in the scheme of things it meant nothing, it did eat away at her. Even before her eyes, he was a reminder of how fast innocence could lose itself in the royal court.

Already at four years old, he was shown a keen mind he must have inherited from him and his father, though she was thankful that he did not inherit his father's table manners. Soon, he would grow up and become more keen to the world around him, something that was already a considerable talent of his. She worried herself over what questions he would ask, and what painful truths she would have to share.

Her mind then fell on her thick headed brother. They parted in anger, and if something were to happen to them, it would be their last memory together. Fighting, in front of her son. She prayed that she would see Geoffrey again, and mend ties with him so that this would be behind them soon. She then thought of his words. Geoffrey was usually supportive of whatever Elincia desired, from her spending habits for the kingdom, to her marriage with Tibarn, even serving as a footstool when all three of them were quite drunk during the last Winter Festival. What made this different, this should have been something they all agreed on.

She kicked a dune of snow and thought back to when Geoffrey came back from Volus, during the months of slaughter that happened out of nowhere. Geoffrey wouldn't let a defeat eat away at him and allow that to question the wisdom of the royal family for not hunting down any wild rumor about the Flayed Ones. Still, he came back close to death and when he recovered he was rougher like a glass vase subjected to a sandstorm.

Her thoughts ended abruptly when she heard music in the air, a single voice singing to the north. She tugged the reigns and guided Oathbound with her. They walked what felt like a mile through the snow, when in actuality it was only three hundred feet, and she spied the singer.

The old woman knelt in the snow, her fingers brushing the herbs that poked out of the earth. She was singing to herself, a tune Lucia did not recognize in a language as foreign. She was picking some blue flowers, flowers that had strong medicinal components. Lucia noted that there was a sword strapped to her back, but it was covered with snow and looked as if it was the equivilentof having a great big hound to scare away would be thieves. No possible way a woman that old could wield it. Perhaps it was a reminder of a husband long dead. Lucia cleared her throat to announcer her present, and to prepare a false voice.

The old woman stood to her full height and placed her bundle of herbs down. She looked remarkably young, despite the very long hair that was whiter than all of the winters Lucia had seen. All of her teeth were still in her head, and muscle was evident under the well fitted jacket. She placed her hands on her hips and returned the greeting. "Hello traveler."

"Greetings yourself. I did not expect to find anyone this far out." She spoke with a bit of phlegm in her throat, the Daein accent coming out as a result that she had fooled even native speakers with its uncanniness. "I am part of diplomatic envoy sent by Queen Micaiah to the Lord Commanders of the White Rangers to renew their vows to the crown. But I became lost in this accursed forest, and have been riding all night. I need a guide." Lucia tugged her coat to feign the idea of being colder than she really was.

"Of course. These are dangerous places, and is quite difficult not get lost at least once a day. I can guide you, I was just finishing up my morning harvest. When the sun comes up, the flowers retreat under the snow. They are called lunar tulips for a reason. If you give me your name, I will tell mine."

"My name is Zofia Armak." Lucia walked forward, being sure that she hid her sword from sight. It was a false name she had used before many times, so it felt familiar for it to roll of her tongue with confidence.

"And mine would be Agatha. My, you are quite the looker. Society should have you waited upon like a goddess with a choice of suitors, something suitable for any woman like you."

"Well, I am not any normal woman." Lucia responded to the comment and the crone laughed.

"Indeed, so am I. Come, I have a fire not far away with some tea gathered this morning. It is not far away." She gestured to the northwest and slung the bag over her shoulder. "You look quite familiar."

Lucia bit her bottom lip but before she could react Oathboud gave a neigh and Agatha stopped in her tracks, noting three figures coming out of the shadows. Lucia immediately recognized them as three assassins she was sent with. The lead one, a bald man with no nose and a curved dagger in his hand came down the hill to her right will a bullying swagger. "Well, I could answer that question, but why bother?"

"You know this fine lot?" Agatha asked with a dry tone of voice. She then turned to the three men, the other two were armed with a crossbow and an axe. "Violence in the White Forest is usually a one sided affair, and increasing your numbers won't help. Speak and leave, or just leave. Otherwise you may stay here longer than you anticipate."

"Doesn't bother me, threats from some hag are laughable. Stand aside, this bitch here," he gestured to Lucia with his knife, "is worth quite a bit of coin and she has a tendency to please her captors as she grovels for her life." Lucia was fuming, cursing Geoffrey for being so right about these assasins hired for coin and miles away from any reasonable authority. "Who knows, once we sell her back she may have another bastard slither out of her womb. Maybe three after the others take their turns."

"Before I kill you, I will remove your need for-" Lucia yelled back in her false voice, about her desire to castrate this turncoat before Agatha stood between her and this man.

"Last chance. Leave." Her hand moved to her snow covered sword, fingers wrapping around the red leather hilt.

"Alright, you can die first. I'll be sure to-" He never finished the word because a flash of gold passed over his neck and a heavy thud of metal followed in the snow next to him. He stood there for a moment, dumbfounded before a trickle of blood came from his neck, then the head fell from the body into the enveloping snow.

The archer fired a bolt at them but Agatha raised the glimmer of gold and deflected it with ease. She then raised her arms and threw the blade at the archer. It was like a javelin of golden lightning, the thick blade impailed him through the chest and pinning him to a tree. The axe wielding one charged down the hill, screaming for blood. Lucia drew her sword and swung at the man. He parried each of her blows, but the axe was a clumsy weapon with none of the reach of a spear, so it was only a matter of time before Lucia got her sword into the man's guard and used her sword to sever both wrists. Before there was a chance to scream, she silenced him with a final cleave of her sword.

The whole fight took less than ten seconds, and Lucia pushed the thought that the other assassins would come after her with similar goals. She had worked on extended missions with them before, these three were the only unfamiliar ones and it looked as if Bastian was scraping the bottom of the barrel. She knelt in the crimson snow, collecting the gold off of the assassins. Money should not go to waste, after all the dead had no use for it.

She looked up to see Agatha pull her sword out of the tree with unnatural ease. She felt her hate for these men give way to awe as she recognized the blade.

It was a claymore, with a thicker blade than normal made gilded heavenfallen steel. The hilt she remembered was reformed to its former glory hundreds of years ago, ray skin and silk replaced the aged black leather. However, sharpened to perfection, polished and with a new sheath, it was an unmistakable weapon.

The twin sword of Alondite, Ragnell. The weapon of Lord Ike.

"Where did you get that?" Lucia whispered.

Agatha wiped the blade off on the cloak of the dead man before she sheathed the blade. "It was given to me by an old friend, he wanted to be sure that it returned to its true owner. Now, I believe I offered some tea?"

Lucia shook her head. What did she get herself into?

* * *

As the fire crackled in the hearth next to them, Ludveck sat on the wooden floor, trying to control his breathing. He had not eaten or drank for two days, and his nerves were on edge as every sensation was amplified a hundred times. The small fire radiated heat like a volcano, and the smell of the smoke overpowered everything. Upon the table in the center of the spartan room, Triton was hunched over a small stone mortar and pestle, smashing roots into a thick paste. "Is this what you had to do to become attuned to the world of the arcane?" He asked as Triton added some dried green herbs to the mixture.

"No. I was locked in a cave for five days with food enough for half of those days. It was to force us to either connect with the ethereal realm of magic, or claw our way out before we starved to death. Both was a way to test our resolve to live even if you could not wield the power that clawed away in your blood." Triton explained and poured some cold spring water into the paste, making it a little more fluid. "Since we lack the time and caves to do such a test, this is perhaps just as effective."

Ludveck wanted to smile at his good fortunes for not undertaking such a trial, but he secretly feared what was to come with this test. He had seen the effects of magic first hand, and had always thought that it came from learned men reading books in a long dead tongue. But apparently the way Triton spoke of it, magic was all around them and it was just as much a part of the world as the air that filled their lungs. If this was to awaken talent in him, what would that take?

"A little fear is understandable. Winter has hung over this world for over six hundred years, and waiting to see the first blooms of spring is a time for being uncertain and maybe a tad fearful." Triton said, as if he was reading his mind. He finished grinding the paste into a swirl of browns, reds, and specks of green. He nodded before walking over to the fire and handed Ludveck the bowl as he took his own seat. "Drink, and open your eyes."

Ludveck nodded and placed his lips to the bowl. The taste was abysmal, the texture even more so. It was like that dreadful chickpea paste he had when visiting Begnion officials brought it to have during their meals. Hells take him, _that_ seemed more palatable than this. Still, he tried to focus on something else ad he drained the bowl of its contents. He placed it down on the floor next to him and continued with his meditation practice.

Breath in, then out. Focus on nothing else but your own heartbeat. Slowly the world began to form around him, folding up onto a single point then the point stretched out into infinity before violently snapping back to normal. Ludveck then opened his eyes and observed the changed world around him.

It was a grey world, full of smoke but with stands of colors dancing like the winter lights above his head. Shimmering light casted his body in a motley assortment of colors, some of which he had no name for. He saw creation and destruction work in perfect harmony with the other. He rose to stand on nothing, and through the wisps of smoke, Triton came forth.

He looked every bit like the mythological figure his titles claimed him to be. He was a shrouded figure, a rictus skull mask of blue fire on top of a body of azure lightning. It looked muted, all things considered. The skull was resembling of the helmet he wore into battle and it had that casted image rather than a real skull, the lightning pulsed as he moved, with hints of purple, white, and green.

Sensing his question, Triton spoke though the voice was considerably different than it was in the mortal world. It was much more… foreign, thick with an accent that was at once completely alien and familiar at once. "We are in the world between worlds. The living to our right, and the dead to our left. The chaotic in between and the immaterial."

Ludveck nodded and rose to his feet, disoriented from the lack of anything resembling the old world. Triton continued, "All power born of the arcane, natural elements, and the divine can find themselves in here. There is not the source of power, rather it is the crucible in which it is formed."

"Each one of us is a conduit of power and in the height of summer, when the walls between our world and that of the arcane is at the thinnest, everyone knows at least one spell or another in some form." Triton said and swept his hand through the smoke, instantly it altered to his will and words of power formed for the briefest of moments before it dissipated into a fractured wisp. "Soren, Bastian, and others who are heralded as paragons on the craft would be considered mere journeymen at the equinox of power. When the chaos is at its greatest, I have seen mountains leveled by only a small cabal, and a man turned into nothing but red organic paste by another without so much as uttering a word and lifting a finger."

"I thought that magic was something left in books available to only the elites of the craft." Ludveck stated as he swung his hand through the smoke, failing to create the same result.

"They are appropriate for learning, and with great dedication, they could be used as tools during the winter. Many of those books are bastard offspring, passed down through the generations, each one forgetting more and more until spring comes once again and it is learned once again for the cycle of progress and degeneration. Knowledge horded for only a select few to know is the greatest sin anyone can commit, though it can be forgiven. The unforgivable sin is intentionally losing it." Triton said, looking to Ludveck then back to the great expanse of raw power dancing around them.

Ludveck didn't say anything, and took in the deep expression of the world between theirs and the one after. It was wild, full of chaos as if it laughed at the very idea of order. Perhaps it was always like this, unwilling to be fully cowed by whomever used it. It could also change itself to the perspective of whomever viewed it, and Ludveck was looking through what his soul was in the second realm.

"Progress comes with strive, and tapping into the well of magic that burns all around us creates great amounts of both. You are someone who must deal with forces that are neither benevolent nor malicious." Triton spoke and opened his hand to create a ball of fire with a cold ice core at the center. In the other hand, ribbons of lightning that fell to the ground like water droplets. "They reflect us, and when left to their own devices they will cause destruction. You must act as a mediator and channel for that destructive energy. But you must never confuse one for being good with another as evil. Such concepts are as foreign to this place as reason. Light and darkness. Fire and ice. Life and death. They are but two sides of the same coin, each no greater than another."

"I adhere to that principal, which the world is chaotic and one cannot truly tame it? Only mitigate the damage it causes?"

"No, adherence is not proof of power in a concept. It is simple justification. Too much adherence, too little adherence. Blind devotion in the powers you see around you brings the same ruination as blind adherence to faith. It will come differently, but you will be burned by both just as bad. It was unquestioning commitment that brought the greatest war in the history of creation, which we still feel the repercussions today." Though it was impossible, Ludveck was sure for a moment he saw the fire skull mask frown in anger.

"The war against your empire. The war that continues to this day." Ludveck stated, and he placed his hand on the cloaked shoulder of Triton. "You were the Young King. The first, the last, and the only." Triton was silent, Ludveck allowed the silence to continue until the Lightning Lord was ready to speak once again.

"Magic, science, piety, philosophy… none is greater than the others. Perhaps you are an idiot when you deny what you can see, feel and smell but if you believe that is the only absolute truth above all else, you fall with be pretty hard." Triton said and looked to Ludveck.

"You must learn to balance everything. Because you can do something with your new powers does not always mean that you should. When your only tool is a hammer, it is only a matter of time before everything starts looking like a nail. Accept that you will more than likely use your gifts to cause death and destruction, but know that you must do it only when there is no other alternative. Personal creed, respect for the arcane, and scientific observance must all temper your actions, none being more greater than the others. You must not deny yourself emotions, always be aware as to not lose yourself in them."

Ludveck held out his own hands, bent at the elbow in front of his chest as if he were to receive a sword, and soon the magics began to envelop him. Pain shot through his body, but it never broached the threshold of too much. "Know that there is passion in your acts, but there is concord. Strength exists with humility. Honor and humbleness are one." Tritons words continued to come to him just as clearly as if he had whispered them into his ear. He felt the power coursing through him, and it was a burden and satisfaction to feel it. He felt his lips quiver as another element of the arcane flood his body with his pulse. It didn't last long, as another torrent of pain began to tear down his mental walls and he drew his mouth into a straight line to deal with the pain. "There is no oath we use to cement this moment. Look in yourself, announce to the world what you intend to use these gifts. Use the words to draw upon strength when all other sources have abandoned you."

As the coils of energy formed into a cold frost that coated his entire arms and slowly moved their way up to the rest of his body, Ludveck looked within himself. He knew what he wanted, he cared little for his life after the moment his vengeance was accomplished. But there must be a purpose beyond the second he struck down the snake Erebus, even if he cared not for it. He was an agent for a purpose beyond his own selfish desires,

"As certain as the sun of dawn, I ride with a purpose." A painful image flashed on the back of his eyes, something of a cloaked man with talon like fingers weaving spells of darkest anima. It was there for a moment then the cold overtook his mind as the frost reached his neck.

"I am the sword of my native land, though I serve another lord my duty to her remains." Another image, one from a future that could have been. He sees himself holding a daughter, no older that two years, with her mother's light blue hair as she carried another in her stomach as they looked out to Felaire's fields. A tear of pain, anger, and sorrow falls and leaves a cold trail of frost as he feels what is left of his body untouched by the frost be consumed.

"Through dragon fire, through the test of time, through the depths of the nine hells, I will be the guardian against the doom." A final image, the last smile of a father who never had to see how far his firstborn would fall.

"Against all who defy and mislead me and my kinsmen, let them suffer my wrath!" The final words spoken, every nerve in his body was enflamed with a different sensation. He felt a myriad of different sensations, and he felt a small part of him inside be shredded and rebuilt.

It was… glorious.

With sensation dying, Ludveck opened his eyes and found that the cabin they were in was covered from floor to ceiling in a thin sheet of ice and frost. He could see the breath in front of his eyes, and Triton had finished pulling up his hood, to conceal his face once again. Ludveck held his arm up, and saw that thin layer of ice that surrounded the room on his arm, but it brought no sensation to him. Not cold, not even a change it was just… there.

He moved a few of his fingers , finding that the ice moved in concert with no cracking or chipping that was expected when thin ice was exposed to any sort of pressure. Within a moment, after the thought crossed his mind that the ice would disappear in time, it evaporated, leaving wisps of heatless steam. He felt his arm, warm and dry. "Cryomancy." Triton chuckled in his familiar voice under the hood.

Ludveck was a bit perplexed, and as he held both of his hands close together and applied the mental force, a small blizzard began to happen between the two forming a whirlwind of sharp ice and biting cold. "I swore that oath with vengeance in mind. Should not that burn with a fiery hate?"

"Perhaps, but remember that vengeance takes many forms. Your hate burns cold and long. It is not passionate in the way may imagine it. It is not an all-consuming fire that burns for the sake of burning. It is calculated, with a specific goal in mind. The cold kills slowly, making sure that total victory has been achieved. A man may light a fire to ward off the cold, but the cold is patient and when the fire dies, as all fires will," Triton shot a bolt of blue lightning into the hearth, reigniting the logs that had been smothered by the frost, "the cold will be there to resume its work."

The two stood, Ludveck affixing his armor and coat while Triton remained in his cloak, fingers interlaced. "I saw something, as I was swearing my oath." Ludveck said with some uncertainty. "I saw many things, but I saw something that could have been. Had I made a different choice, well, my life would have been different. Is that normal?"

"How does the saying go? 'The optimist hopes this is the best world we made, the pessimist fears that it is.' I have seen things of a better life, one in which I am not the man standing before you. But we suffer for a reason, and is that 'better life' so true? If you had not raised your armies in rebellion, would Crimea have been ready for Begnion incursions? If you had not harmed the young maiden, would she know how valuable the life of her son is? Would that son even exist were it not for you?"

Ludveck thought for a moment, and he could offer no argument. The old warrior was right. "Your powers will develop as you do, train and develop them as you would your sword hand."

"I will. For the moment, I feel the need for a drink and remembered that we are out of the stout that the men enjoy. I'll travel to the waystation to see if I can procure a few more casks of it. I will be back in the evening to discuss battle plans." Ludveck tightened his fur lined coat and exited the cabin. Triton smiled under the hood, he saw something too in the world between the worlds, and a familiar face was going to see Ludveck soon. A familiar face with a few swords hungering for his heart.

The Great Old One was coming, and the sooner these petty squabbles were behind them all, the better.


	18. Chapter 17

Caliban knelt in the chamber alone, his scarred eyes never leaving the stone floor as he whispered familiar phrases over and over. Pain he never thought he would suffer again wracked his body, and his fingers were dug into his own legs with such a force the nails drew blood. "Show me… show me…" Sleep had evaded him through the night, as it does whenever he was paid a visit by his old comrades. Too much time to think, no distractions to avoid thinking of what was, what is, and what will come. Rather than pace like a caged animal and draw attention to himself, Caliban meditated as he had done during his days as a disciple of order.

The room was arranged slightly differently, with a well embroidered rug under his form and a cold fire burning in the hearth. White cloth draped over the windows and door, signifying the perceived purity that Ashera would have brought. His sword laid in front of him, edges coated in blood drawn from his hands. It glowed faintly, like a viridian torch in fog. As the room dropped in temperature, hoarfrost lined the stones around him, creeping over the blade and the edges of his clothing.

Caliban did not know where this conviction, this certainty that even after so many years this ritual would be a success, came from. It simply existed, like any faith. He turned his emotions inward, hot and heavy anger at his past filled his being like boiling poison in his blood. It was that emotion, that hot rage, which propelled the magic that was in and around everything to circle him like a maelstrom.

Then, like a crack of lighting with immediate thunder, Caliban felt the familiar touch of the spirits. It was a physical sensation, a soft hand touching his cloaked shoulder and nudging him to stand. Slowly, color formed. Then the sounds that were both familiar and utterly alien. He was there again, in the world between worlds.

It was a deathlike state that he brought himself into. He did not know how he could describe that feeling, he doubted anyone could find the words for such a thing. His essence was now in the world between worlds, and only that essence. His body was still alive and presence in the physical realm, but it felt like a string tied around one's ankle. Barely tethering him to the ethereal sea. There was no thudding of his heart in his chest, no air to fill his lungs, nothing but a deep and invasive cold that gnawed with implacable hunger.

In this realm between life and the one that comes after, it was pure chaos. The energy of creation danced for life and sang to death, all at once in a cacophony of mismatched unity. It was both comforting and unhinged, an existing paradox.

Then, there were the denizens.

Many soothsayers and fortune tellers claimed they could communicate with the dead and pass messages along to living, letting them know what the departed could see. How they professed love they could not have in life, how they were thankful for this moment to speak to the living, and how the medium should be rewarded handsomely for the services rendered.

Caliban felt his body sneer at the thought. Charlatans, every last one of them.

To listen to the dead was to decipher a hundred messages in a hundred riddles, and rare was the time any spoke the absolute truth. It was also rare that the dead would speak a kind word to anyone living. He could not ask, he could not demand, he could not threaten and he could not force what passed through the lips of the dead. He could only listen as the orchestra of creation played.

When the dead spoke, they came all at once. He heard familiar voices he had known in life, those who he had slain, and those who could not die in peace. Anger, violence, regret, weeping, it all occurred in his ears as his essence ghosted through the empyreal abyss. Different voices came at different times, with Caliban spending but a moment to hear their words.

 _A son. How I wanted a son! He would have been Ramon's joy, not that disgusting bitch that would surrender herself to a mere lordling to breed, and then a bird of all things._

 _I cared not from whom the blood flowed, so long as it did flow. Let it flow, let it flow!_

 _This nation was to be my final gift to the world that I failed as a senator. How droll it has all become._

The voices were unknown to him, but he knew that these had to have died in Crimea, and the louder ones closer to Melior. While the spirits existed everywhere and nowhere at the same time, the place of their death was a beacon that would amplify their cries and actions. The more emotional the passing, usually through a passionate and bloody murder, the greater the power at that place. Is it any wonder that many sightings of those long dead were those who died by the hands of others? Why battlefields and the castles of kings had the most hauntings?

Still, as amusing as it was to find gossip from the dead, it was not what Caliban sought. He had come here for answers, either from that of his deceased senator friends who he had followed to damnation or for an answer to the upcoming tribulations that would see his death.

Caliban may have been blind, but he was no fool. He had lived longer than he should have, those who had the brand of devotion to the genocide of the world had perished in the war. He survived only because he was too damn far away to make it to the armies. Now only he and Lehran survived, and the weight of such a past was crushing them.

He felt old. Even though the passing of time stated he was pushing into his early thirties, he felt twice his age. More and more he noticed that when he fought with bandits, automaton flayed ones that were hangovers from the incursion months ago, to simple sparring with others, he relied on his connection to magic to augment his stamina. The cane he had originally used four years prior to adjust to life without sight became something that he rested greater amounts of weight upon.

He felt his physical body sighed as he projected these thoughts. He was going to die in this war one way or another. He also knew where he would go for all of the sins he had committed in life. A place where he would wander eternally in darkness, beset by loneliness until time itself ends. Not a true hell if there ever was one, but far from being rejoined by his ancestors in the halls of paradise.

He was drawn from his morbid thoughts by a song. It was distant, far away but he could hear the tune. The music created something before him, wisps of blue and teal circled around him. He wanted to reach out to grab it, but before he could even form the thought the colors moved away. Then the song changed to a voice that was too… melodic to be human.

 _Twelve times the sun will die, and twelve times it will be resurrected. Come the thirteenth, it shall be reborn in a crack of power to herald the equinox. Heeding the Angel's call, the red lake will shatter to call forth the last remnants of the flood. Against them will stand the Great Old One, whose name must not be spoken._

He then felt something as the words drifted away from him. The realm faded away, and greyish unlight filled the realm. Voices fled, silenced in the palatable presence of fear and dismay that threatened to drown Caliban in its embrace. Even the sound of creation, that chaotic chorus, was silenced until there was nothing but perpetual dusk.

He felt something. Something that should not have existed, nay could not exist. Hate, spite, fear, and power permeated the air. Something old and ancient was there with him.

And for a moment he felt something breathe on the back of his neck.

"My lord?" A voice at the periphery of his hearing tore him from his meditation. He gasped at the shock of the two things happening at once. He had been close to… something he was not sure what it was. If only he had a moment more, maybe he could have figured out who or what that was.

Maybe.

The knocking came again, too light to be a fully grown man. "My lord?" With a mumbling of a few words, Caliban dispelled the cold fire and the frost that lined the room evaporated to nothing so that not even a morsel of water remained. A cantrip, but still it would see quite impressive

"Enter." The door opened and a small page boy, no older than seven, came in. Caliban felt his annoyance bleed away and adopted an understanding demeanor. "Speak."

"I-it's the King, my lord. He requests your presence at this time." The lad spoke with uncertainty, doubtless this was the first time the King asked him to do something.

"Tibarn knows I am a practicing member of the Begnionin apostolate, and I am in my morning prayers. I wished not to be disturbed at this time." He spoke slowly and calmly, keeping his emotions in check.

"I know, my lord." This caused one of Caliban's eyebrows to raise and he looked over to the boy with both of his dead eyes.

"Did King Tibarn request my presence?"

"No… he-erm-demanded it. You are to meet him in the lower levels of the dungeons, beyond the dark cells."

Caliban sighed. There was only one place beyond the dark cells where only torchlight was permitted. A place he had not been in some time. The royal torture chambers. "Inform the king I will be with him to attend to his needs within the hour. I have to finish my rituals of observation and my prayers for the departed."

The page boy gulped and tugged on his tunic collar. "I do not think he would like to be kept waiting, my lord."

Caliban turned back to the candle and closed his eyes, a sense of calm washing over him. "Weather he likes it or not is irrelevant. Waiting is what he is going to do."

* * *

"Hold her in your hands, is she not beautiful?" Jeon asked as he handed the scabbard over to Marek who wrapped his hand around the hilt of the blade. His fingers fell unto their carved notches in the hilt, it was almost like putting a gauntlet on, so perfect was the fit. Marek admired the handiwork of the exquisite detail Jeon and his artificers has put into it. The basket guard looked as if it had been carved from feathers of gold and iron, with a crying hawk head at the center. Decorative, perhaps more than most lords desired, but it could stop even a blow from the strongest swordsman in the kingdoms.

He pulled the blade from the snug confines of the leather and iron riveted sheath. A dark and smoky blade came forth, drinking in the sunlight that came through the windows. An obsidian dark core with the fuller ran down the length of the blade, with dark grey ribbons of crucible steel snaking out towards the edges. It was as long as h requested, though a tad heavier perhaps due in no small part to the heavenfallen steel used. "Feel how she moves in your hand, all taint from her ore has been removed and replaced with pure metal. The weight perfect and the edge keen."

"Remarkable." Marek said under his breath and held the blade pointing away from anyone, glancing down the fuller, noticing the tiny runes carved in the jacketed core. They were not Zunanma, these were fare more eloquent and flowing of script to be such. "These runes, who carved them?"

"I did of course. Is something wrong?" Marek turned the blade so that Jeon could see it. "Ah, I was looking for my book that had the usual runes that you wanted when I found another one, older by many years. I decided to try these new designs, to truly make it a unique weapon. I have little doubt that, should you want it enchanted, there will be any complications. Does it displease you?"

Well, it was not what he had wanted but it did enhance the beauty of the blade. "Not at all." He twirled the blade once, and it did feel as if it was an extension of his arm as a good sword should be. Marek slid the blade back into the sheath, and gripped the extended hand of Jeon. "You do a week's work in two days. Your payment, as requested." Marek unhooked a pouch of coins and handed it to the blade master, who felt it once, twice, three times to make sure all of the coins were in there.

With a satisfied nod, Jeon departed back into the forge, reeking of coal dust and honest labor. It is a smell that is at once admirable in principal but repugnant when mixed with the lilac perfume Elincia wore today. A small boy, Tywin Twinmoon, comes out to meet his master and show him the blade he had been polishing. The boy spares a look at Marek, who raises his off hand in a gesture of greeting. He does the same to Elincia, though it takes her a few painfully slow heartbeats to return a wave.

Elincia and Marek walked away from the smithy, Marek clutching the sheathed blade tightly in his hands while the queen interlocked her hands over in her coat, her face betraying no emotion. "A fitting weapon, and the best ones have names, will you give your sword one?"

Marek thought about it, knowing that he should because this was to be the sword for his house to pass down the line should it be fortunate enough to survive. Indivisable was his father's sword before it was lost in the Mad King's War, then there was Ragnell and Alondite. The Queen had Amiti and Lady Lucia had the twin sword Ratione. Even Tibarn's plain knife had a name, though it was not fit to speak or think aloud in gathered company. "Perhaps, but it must earn a name. I cannot tell a mule that it is a mustang stallion and expect it to be something that it is not."

Elincia nodded with a small smile. The two walked a short distance before she turned into the gardens, her private garden to be exact. When she was not pestered with affairs of state, nobles, a husband and children she could often be found here amongst the relative calm of blossoming fruit trees and bushes of roses. What she thought was the most impressive was the fountain built over a natural warm spring that continued to bubble through even the harshest of winters, and it was the center piece they moved to.

Marek sat down on the lip of the fountain, resting feet he did not know were tired. He noticed that Mist was not far away, holding her daughter as the touched opening flowers together with the wolfpup granted by the Michiah. He smiled as the infant was taking in a breath of her first flower, and the pup was trying to understand his new surroundings as well.

That is when he noticed the healing staff and salves nearby, along with the queen's own blade. Before he could voice his question, Elincia spoke. "Today is your day to speak before the gathered nobles about what you plan to do with your position. Proposals and guidelines you will enforce. However, I fear it will fall on deaf ears if they view you as a weakling. So, consider this a chance to prove them wrong." The queen had removed her coat, revealing a silken fencing shirt with leather gantlets to protect her wrists.

A small part of his throat tightened. Was she to duel him, to see if he was strong with other nobles who were passing by stopping as they saw their queen dressed like a tavern brawler before the lordling they were to vote on. Goddess, what did he walk into? Still, with eyes on him he could not refuse.

He rose and removed his cloak, and lowered his voice. "Your majesty, forgive my language, but you beat my brother, who was a veteran in his own right, like a runaway slave. I have only had spars with knights, nothing with live steel especially. If your goal is to make me a fool, you are on the right path."

Elincia scoffed, something that was alien to hear. "False modesty is as bad as false pride. You must be aware of what you are capable at any moment. Besides, if you do not best me, let the degree of failure by your judge." Marek shifted uneasily, suddenly feeling the wounds from the night before that put him at a further disadvantage. He felt his heart grow cold, his fate scrawled before him.

He drew his sword, feeling the weight in his hand seemingly adjusting until it felt just right. He looked and saw the runes glistening in the sunlight. He had hoped that the words were the same as he requested. "For the evil we vanquish and the illumination we bring, that is how we are judged in life." He mumbled the words to himself, as if they were something to draw his power from.

Marek took his place five paces away from Elincia, and adopted his opening stance. His sword was a rapier, and it was designed for close combat on the linear plane. He stood with his dominant side facing the queen, blade slightly lowered and his unused hand rested at his side. He snapped the rapier up to his face in a salute, then flourished the blade back to the starting position.

Elincia, a maverick in the world of swordplay as Geoffrey had stated, adopted a two handed grip in a high guard stance, using her blades natural length to her advantage. Amiti was a bastard sword in every sense of the word. Long, but still able to be comfortably wielded with one hand, though two brought more power behind it. It was a sword designed for her mounted combat, though he had no doubt she could hold her own on without her steed.

They kept their stance for some time, and the crowd that had gathered was silent. No murmured whisperings, there was only the sounds of nature. The wind that gently brushed against their faces and the foliage around them. There was the babbling of the fountain, and the occasional chirping of the birds. The moment seemed to move on to infinity, both waiting for the traditional signal to begin fighting.

For a single heartbeat, all was quiet. That moment was soon broken when a stone was dropped into the water, a traditional signal for when all duels were done at the mouth of the mighty Silver River.

Elincia moved first, her speed belied by her apparent lack of any muscle under her clothing, but Marek reacted quickly with a quick parrying flick of his wrist, keeping his movements close to his body and conserving his energy. The blow was powerful, but little force was needed to redirect the blow. The queen struck again, and Marek used his basket guard to block the incoming blow this time, battering it aside with a grunt of effort. Crimean tradition was to first blood on the torso, with strikes above the neck with the weapon forbidden. He saw no reason the queen would make an exception to it this time.

The nobles gathered began to speak once again, it was an easy sound to ignore as Marek struck out, a quick thrust that Elincia had parried, but Marek refused to go through with the motion and kept his blade locked with the queen's. She was strong, and being only eight years older than him did not give him the advantage of youth he had experienced with some of the more wizened knights. This was not going to be a duel of strength, it was a slowly moving sandglass that would end when one of them made a wrong move that opened up the defenses of another.

Marek forced his blade to twist, turning Elincia's blade aside and thrusted forward. He scored a hit on her forearm, tearing into the silk but drew no blood. Her sword well out of reach to do any damage, the queen violently backhanded him to separate the two of them. His world rang around him, but he quickly recovered and brought his sword up to block another attack.

It continued like this for what seemed like minutes. More had gathered to watch and Mia was amongst them. She had seen and participated in duels more times than she cared to count. Observing these two fighters, she saw the strengths and weakness in each. It was clear that Marek had the best form and practice for such duels, Elincia was the superior fighter and by far the most versatile weapon as she demonstrated in that moment by gripping the shaft of her blade and pushing forward to set Marek off balance. He quickly recovered and parried the next blow, but Mia saw a flash of pain cross his face as he did so.

She noticed that his dueling was not as fluid as she had sparred with him a day before. It was much more tight and constrained, as if he was afraid of pulling something. As he moved through the diciplines of his fighting style, she occasionally saw something poke out from under his tucked in tunic. Wraps of some sort. She had seen him without his shirt, and while he was somewhat easy on the eyes as bookish strategist types went, he did not hide a stomach other lords or ladies did. That raised a concern for her, she was supposed to protect him but he had given her leave last night.

The two clashed again, and Marek felt his stomach and torso ignite in pain at the wounds. They may have been scarred over, but by the goddess it was inflaming pain. Contrast, Elincia seemed to have barely lost her breath, despite how much strength she forced into her swings. He struck out with a probing assault, forcing her to open her left side. He capitalized on it by delivering a well-placed kick, an accepted move in Crimean dueling, though frowned upon by traditional Begnion masters. The more one thought about it, Crimean dueling was brawling with three main rules. No strikes above the neck with the weapon, no eye gouging, and one hand had to always be on the weapon. The blow caused the air to rush out of Elincia's lungs and she fell to one knee, breaking her lock on the blade.

Marek thrusted forward, hoping to score the wound that would bring blood on the torso, but he must have realized what went wrong when he over extended his grip. Elincia turned her body, sacrificing her right shoulder to the point of the rapier. It slid in with effortless ease, blood of Altina Jeon made a sharp blade, but such a strike opened his chest to her blow.

With her sword, Elincia swung out at Marek and the blade embedded itself in his chest. Marek gasped in pain as an inch of steel scored his sternum causing a streak of light red blood to soak his dress tunic. The blade remained on his chest, the tip pressing the exposed bone and a trail of the blood ran down the fuller. Marek fought back the killing urge that wheeled up inside of him, even though he had been expecting this blow. With a shake of his head, he saw the queen smiling not in gloating victory, but from something that he could only describe as approval.

He pulled the rapier out of her shoulder and offered a hand to the queen, who took it. The pain enflamed again, but he made it sound like a grunt of effort as he pulled Elincia back to her feet. The nobles were silent, perhaps a little disappointed that Marek was not beaten handedly or that he had not made Elincia cry out in pain to prove that he was Ludveck's brother. Eventually, there was applause for a fight well done, Mia was among the loudest because she did forget how skilled of a swordswoman Elincia was.

"That was… unexpected." Elincia said in between breaths as her white silk became stained with her own blood and she rested her hands on her knees, her exhaustion catching up with her. Mist was not far behind with a healing staff, and the two nobles sat down on the lip of the fountain, both exhausted and satisfied.

Once Mist finished her healing, which saw the new wounds quickly heal and the pain from older ones dulled significantly, the crowd of other nobles disbanded, murmuring what they saw. Many were not surprised the Queen won, but they were for how long the lordling held out. Others reaffirmed their beliefs and the topic quickly changed for many after a moment.

Elincia moved her coat aside, revealing a jug of wine and two glasses. She picked up the wine and poured a goblet for each of them, Mist politely declining any as she left with her daughter to look more at the blooming flowers. "Now then," Elincia stated as she drank some of the sweet red liquid, from her own personal vineyard, "would you care to explain to me how you got those feathers?"

Marek sipped the wine offered to him, not blind to the great honor it was to drink from the royal vineyards. There was a little more time before the day's deliberation was to begin, so why not talk some gossip? "Well, she is quite free spirited woman..."


	19. Chapter 18

"I need more time."

"You are asking for the one thing I cannot give." Triton explained to Hatzel as the former senator finished reading the diplomatic response from one of the neighboring clans of rangers, the Ashenfaced, who held the dormant volcano that held vents that were consistently hot to make steel without the need for coal. Ludveck had sent a message earlier in the week asking for their allegiance, and the response was a simple insult that signified a no once one got past all of the cursing. "Diplomacy has ran its course with them and if they are so content to die for their mountain, I will indulge them."

"My lord," the old man took a breath of the cold air to refill lungs he did not know had been empty, "they number seven hundred and have stone walls with polished steel weapons. Even if you were to muster the entire forces we have, it would be a pyrrhic victory."

Triton growled under his hood, and rested his fists on the worktable next to the forge, the heat and smell reminded him of home and it helped him clear his head. "You have not seen my people go to war, Hatzel. Each one of us was worth an entire platoon of soldiers Altina had under her command. I have little doubt I could make the walls of Daein's capital fall with nothing more than a gesture of my hand."

Hatzel cocked an eyebrow. "You are hoping for a fight." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"It is in my blood. It is what I am for. We are not savages anymore, but there comes a time when nothing else will suffice than to be vambrace deep in our foes. Food tastes like ash, schnapps does nothing, and there is only the drumming in the skull that will not cease until the blade is wet." Triton spoke plainly now, his anger dissipating. "It is only when we surrender to the _aonatfuil_ do we crave the blood of our foes and the hides that they wear. To embrace the bloodlust, then to augment it with darkest magic, it is a feeling that one will never forget."

Triton closed his eyes and was thankful for the momentary slip into recollection, the first time those terrible words left his lips. Flashes of a battle against an insect like species whose name was forgotten so that none would know the true monstrosity, his war hammer shattering the carapace exoskeleton of their kind as easily as a man might hammer tin. He remembered being locked in personal combat against their vile ruler, Loth, her six sharpened appendages digging into his armor as he fought with two falchions to match her speed. He remembered using his teeth to tear out her exposed throat when she toyed with him, the sensation of the vile blood wash down his throat manifested for a moment. He tore her limbs off as she died with his bare hands, as if to give her a foretaste of the suffering she would endure for eternity.

He opened the eyes again, his heart thundered in his chest with pride at that moment before turning back to Hatzel, who took a step back as the fury that was hidden behind a mask showed for just a moment. "You make a point, senator, but I will not forgo this opportunity to make war in preparation for the ones to come. I will marshal my forces and attack in two days' time, I grant you that much time to convince them otherwise. If they wish to fight still, I will fight their commander for control on even terms. I will save the slaughter for when the true foe arrives or if they still remain stubborn about it."

Hatzel nodded and left without another word. Triton stood up straight and removed his hood, the cold wind kissed his face. A new voice that was not far from him spoke, and Triton turned his exposed head to greet him. "I see you have retained some control over the bonding ritual."

Triton's host looked to the branded with a humorless smile to Lehran. "It is unsettling, to say the least. Often time I am nothing but an observer of my own body and the actions it undertakes. But I knew the cost when I met him the first time, in the land of fire and ash."

Lehran placed a wicker basket on the table as he sat down, it landed with a hard thump. " _The flood comes cold and fast from the land unaccepting of rain_. Or so he used to say.. I remember Triton well, when he was known as the Young King. I imagine he has told much about himself to you?"

"Yes, but I know he holds some secrets from me." The host looked at the basket that was placed on the table. "I trust you found what he wanted." He opened the lid and saw the grim contents, a severed head that had been naturally mummified in the peat bogs of southern Begnion. The skin was tight and black, with strands of long black hair still remaining in the scalp.

Even after all these years, it was unmistakably him. "Thank you. I imagine he will have much to tell us." The host took the basket and placed it aside as the branded heron sat down on the table and folded his hands under his chin. "I wondered if we would ever meet again, during our last encounter I thought you had died."

Lehran shook his head. "Had I known this would be my future, in service to the flood Ashunera made, I wish that I did die. I lost Altina to the passage of time, Dheginsea was killed because of me, and Soan fell off the face of the earth. I am alone in the world I wanted to destroy, surrounded by those I helped kill."

The host made a face that Lehran could not see, one that a mocking gaze one would use to question the intelligence of the recipient. He didn't say anything, but reached for a vial of clear liquid and poured a bit into two small glasses next to them. Lehran looked and smelled the familiar liquid. "This… I remember first trying this on my first diplomatic meeting with the Calligans. They said the closest translation would be desert wine, and when I tried to drink it like wine, I felt as if I had gulped grounded glass."

The host threw back his head as he drank the liquor. "It is made from the fruit of cactus, though the kick is from fermented scorpion tails. Drink to the honor of dead or drink to forget your pain, Lehran. Either way, this will help."

* * *

Caliban walked down the empty hallways of the dungeon, his cane tapping aimlessly in front of him in one hand while the other rested firmly on the hilt of his blade, just on the off chance he would need to draw it soon. He carried no torch with him, his arcane vision accommodated the lack of traditional eyesight in these situations, though he did miss the warm crackle of the flame. The stones under him were wet with moisture, condensed heat being this far underground doubtlessly.

The cells around him were empty, and he breathed a small prayer of thanks to the ancestors for that fact. In darker times, these would be filled with political enemies or those who were truly mad. Left alone in the dark with the howling of those who had surrendered to the unholy embrace of insanity drove the 'normal' to the precipices of madness, permitting their execution as those who were beyond saving.

As Caliban could recall, it was a favored tool of the late King Ramon and Queen Sylvanias. Both for their rivals in court and those who found out about their daughter existing without their agreement. How convenient many forget this practice when they extolled the kings and queens of the past.

He paused for a moment and shook his head at the barbarism that surrounded him. Few left here alive and with their sanity intact, the memory either forgotten willfully or by force through the arcane. He knew of at least one personally who had survived these ordeals thanks into no small part that he was the son of a powerful noble and was assured his memory would be forgotten of what placed him in hear along with the experiences, but it was a name that would not leave his lips. Too much damage would come from it, and the warden had enough to deal with it.

He finished his walk down the flight of stairs, and stood before the open door of the torture chamber. The smell of stale iron hit him with a hammer's force. No matter how many times he came down here as the executioner and substitute torturer, the smell fouled him every moment. He resisted the urge to expel some bile, and continued through.

To his surprise, many instruments were shoved against the walls with the intent of never being used again unless absolutely needed. Elincia was a just queen but she would not discard an asset no matter how vile it was. Reaching out cautiously with his magical gifts, he felt an eerie sense of holiness wash over him. Skulls in their dozens, no _hundreds_ , were mounted in little niches along the pillars casted in pure consecrated silver.

It was a practice rooted in the early days of Begnion, that the soul of the dead would not find rest if their body was not tended to in the same manner. If the body was buried, but a part was not, then the soul would roam the land until that body part was buried. In truth, it was fiction of the highest order. Burned, decapitated, succumbed to disease, or suicides all went the same path until it forked to hauntings or the afterlife. Still, it was quite the intimidation tactic to have the heads of your enemies support a room.

He walked up to one skull, a skull too large to be human or laguz. He traced his fingers along the embossed words that surrounded the mount. 'The Huntress, flayed one. Died at the hands of Knight Errant Mia Twinmoons.' So, they finally managed to kill one Caliban mused to himself. The humor he found ended when he felt another presence, one he had entirely forgotten about until he felt it overpower all of this. It was cold, and full of barely contained malice.

He then felt the presence of King Tibarn, who sat unmoving in the darkness upon a dais in the center. "My lord?" Caliban inquired as he moved through the shadows. The laguz stood up and walked down with methodical slowness.

"Can you feel them?" Tibarn asked in a low voice that growled like a predator stalking his prey. "The souls of those who died in these chambers? They linger here, confused and in pain. I pity them." The Bird King slowly moved around Caliban, circling him and occasionally closing his fists so that a few knuckles cracked. How he snuck up on him was a mystery, but Caliban did not want to risk the chance of violence if he asked. "If I killed you, would you join them?"

Caliban, despite his best efforts, felt his mouth go bone dry at the words but he showed nothing in response. Show a beast any fear and you will surely be devoured, it was a lesson the decapitated bones all around him did not learn in their lifetime. "I… I do not know, my lord." It was a lie, but he did not want to tempt fate if he answered truth.

Tibarn snorted. "Why is it that I smell no fear on you? Everyone else reeks of it when they come here. Why not you?"

"I have lived far longer than I should have, King Tibarn. In what I have done and what I have seen, I do not fear death like a sane man should."

Tibarn stopped for a moment, and Caliban felt his hot breath against the back of his neck. "You yearn for death, do you not? You wish to die."

Caliban thought for a moment, his mouth formed the words of disagreement before it snapped shut. It was true that he was unafraid of death or the eternal resting place for his soul, but did he really desire it? No, he may have been a touch nihilistic, but he did not seek his own death. Not anymore. "Perhaps, but I have long made peace with my soul." He said nothing more.

"Peace? Pish." Tibarn snorted at the word and began to circle once again. The hint of uncontrollable fury was in Tibarn's eyes when he began to move, and it radiated off of him. "I will ask you only once, Caliban. If you do not answer or are untruthful, I will kill you where you stand." He let the moment drag on, perhaps hoping to cause Caliban to break out into fear sweat. "Who do you serve?"

Caliban did not expect such a base question, but he should not have been surprised given the straightforwardness of the King. "I do not serve men or nations, your grace. I live to serve an idea of something greater than myself. It just so happens that those ideals force me back into the realm of Crimean politics, and for the moment it appears that it does not conflict with the rulers of the land."

Tibarn snorted at the answer Caliban gave. "You give me three answers to one question, each of them partially true." Something cold and sharp was placed against the back of his neck. It was a talon, and it slowly nicked the skin next to the collar. "I do wonder, what other secrets are you hiding from me?"

Caliban scowled, his every muscle tensed for a blow he felt he could deliver to the bird king. He felt as if he was being studied like an insect, right before he would be smashed or pinned for display for the world to see. He then felt the blood break over the back of his neck, a single trickle split off into two as it passed over the mark.

It was at that moment that Caliban realized he had left his leather collar in his room. He only had a moment to breathe a curse at his idiocy before Tibarn noted that the blood from his knife-like talon took on a pattern imprinted on the tunic Caliban wore. It was an archaic symbol from Begnion, symbolizing the eternal order Ashera represented, but it was far more primal in design. It was a mark that felt as if it weight a ton every day, and it was a mark that boiled the blood in the Hawk King's veins.

Before Caliban could say anymore, Tibarn struck with the force of a hammer blow and sent Caliban to the floor with a broken nose and a ringing in his ears. A heartbeat later, Tibarn was upon him with fingers locked tightly around the neck.

Caliban shot out his own hand, pooling his eldritch powers into his palm and grasped the wrist that was strangling him. The power caused a kinetic bubble that blasted the two apart by a few meters, enough for Caliban to get back on his feet as breath returned to his lungs. Tibarn was unsettled but still in control of his senses. "You, I should kill you where you stand." He said with malice that could not be hidden.

"That, ah, would serve no benefit." Caliban explained, massaging his throat with his spare hand. He could fight back, even in this darkness he would have some advantage over the king who could see decently in lowlight. But a strike against a monarch would not bring anything good, regardless who struck first.

"The blood of my kin and my wife's kin are on your hands, I will clean them with your own blood." He snarled and lashed out again. By now, Caliban had intoned the rituals to augment his strength without the need of his walking staff. He raised an arm to block the blow, cords of unnatural muscle formed as the impact slammed against him. It was again like a hammer, but Caliban was an anvil.

Another blow came, then another. Each time Caliban steadied himself against them and pushed back. Within the dark confines of the dungeon, time passed by without any restraint. Neither one of them knew how long they had been fighting. The skulls watched with lifeless eyes, a rictus grin almost encouraging blood from each of the fighters. So far the only that was spilled was from Caliban.

A violent backhanded blow sent Caliban staggering, but he had enough sensibility still left in his body to stray to the right as Tibarn lashed out. Both were sent tumbling to the blood caked stones that held the life force for enemies of the state to those in the way of the political elite. Even though he was using all of his magic to keep himself on his feet, Caliban heard the screams of those who suffered and died ring in his ears.

Tibarn snarled as he staggered to his feet, "Why don't you strike back?" Sensing the momentary pause in the melee, Caliban shot out with his hands, an expanding nova of nullifying magic swept the room. It passed over Tibarn and the instruments without molestation, but it silenced the voices. They could speak to him and voice their anguish at how they suffered and died later.

"It would do neither of us any good. It would offer a reason to remove my head to the nobles who know nothing of your fight against the goddess. I have my own reasons for being here in which wounding, perhaps even killing you, would not serve the interests of my master." Caliban stated calmly and kicked his own staff up into his hands.

"Are these masters the ghosts of those we slew?"

"I hear their cries for my soul every night when I close my eyes. I do not fear death because I know I will fall head first into the eternal torment of whatever area of hell they call home. My soul is forfeit, the least I can do is spend the time I have on this mortal coil doing something that betters it. But no, I do not heed their calls like a trained animal. I serve someone greater than them, as you are beholden to your people. We all serve someone or something, and we each hold our own agenda." Caliban moved around the torture chamber, his distance assured should Tibarn strike out again.

The yellowish amber eyes flashed across the barely lit room, and they met with the augmented vermilion ones of forsaken son. The two continued to circle one another, as if in anticipation for the next strike. "Your words… they ring true." Tibarn said and lowered his fist.

Caliban felt the muscles become lax in his body, but still kept the incantation. "You no longer wish to have my head?"

"I still do. You belonged to a death cult that nearly fulfilled the goal, and the deaths of many are owed to its existence. You may have changed, but if you stay I cannot guarantee that the urges of the dead will have me fulfill their wishes. At the conclusion of this political circus, I do not wish to see your face in Melior again. Should you set a foot inside, I may just hang you with your own entrails to show what happens to madmen. Not even Elincia could hold me back if I were to wish for such a thing."

Caliban scowled in the darkness. It was a fair deal, and in truth he had no desire to return to this rat's nest. Still, he did not like to be threatened in such a way. It was a universal anger, one that he would not be able to dissuade. He nodded and spun on his heels to make his way out of the door. "We each serve our own masters." He repeated as he left, more of a reminder than a threat.

* * *

Lucia gently patted her horse as she tried to keep pace with Agatha, assuring the animal that they would be fine and a warm bed would be in order for both of them tonight. This older woman was humming an old tune to herself as they traversed the winding roads through the forest, and Lucia remained silent as the two continued down the road. Lucia looked to Ragnell, which sat on a scabbard fitted to the saddle of the horse.

Where did she really get the blade? Lucia had seen the blade upon closer inspection and if it was a replica, it was a damn fine one as the battle damage she had seen personally four years ago was in the exact same place. The handle had been replaced, and the scabbard was like new, but those facts alone did not dissuade the fact that the holy blade was in the hand of some crone. Not in his hands.

It was the blade Ike had carried to war three times: twice against the forces of man and once in defiance of the goddess. Since he left for reasons that were lost on everyone, the blade left with him. Of all the places Lucia expected to see that blade, having it held in the hands of a grandmother was the furthest one she had thought.

She had wished it was back in Crimea, perhaps not always in the hands of its master but on a mantle over the hearth where it would be given due reverence. She felt her cheeks get flushed at the thought of perhaps it being back in Delbray, where the hearth overlooked a field of long green grass where her son would play in the long summer days.

How she wished it would be there.

"So you come here to establish ties with the rangers again, to remind them of their oaths to protect the mountains? Anyone you seek to talk to, specifically?" Agatha inquired as the two passed over a trickling creek.

Lucia adjusted her tongue in her mouth to adopt the stiff accent many Daeins had. "A few, though I doubt they are still alive. One in particular was a very vial man, Ludveck the Crimean. Many in court say he is quite the monster and it is with great reluctance that I am sent out to court with him."

Agatha arched an eyebrow. "I am quite familiar with him, though I would hesitate before calling him a very vile man. Not even in the past decade does he qualify for the title of 'monster'."

It was Lucia's turn to be surprised at the words she heard, and felt something like a match of anger rise in her stomach, but she quickly quelled it before it got the better of her. "He raised his armies against his sovereign, raised villages to the ground, and committed violations of basic decency because he despised the then new ruler. How is that not monstrous?"

Agatha pursed her lips for a moment and looked over her shoulder. "How old are you, Zofia?"

Lucia felt the pang of how silly that name sounded, the most common one in Daein. "I have seen twenty-five winters. To you, I must seem like a child."

"And you have the mindset of a child as well. I have no doubt you studied Telliusian history, but you fail to see that there are worse men and women who have walked the continent that would make the things done by that… three day revolt seem trivial in comparison." The pain of those words seemed almost physical to Lucia, who tried to control her anger at the words. Him violating her in the most primal of ways was 'trivial'?

"Raping, pillaging, and killing loyalists in your mind is not worthy of note?" Her voice was controlled, but it was clear that there was effort to do so.

Agatha shrugged her shoulders. "Show me a war where that has not happened. It is wrong, of course. Though consider what happened in other conflicts through time. Daein committed atrocities during the Mad King War when you had the advantage, and the coalition afterwards did the same in your home country even before the occupation. The Royal Knights and Holy Guard had their fair share of atrocities, most notable would be the Slaughter at the Cross Creek. Was what this Ludveck did worse than the mindless butchering of seven hundred civilians, maybe ten of which were soldiers?"

Lucia snorted at the implication that the Knights her brother led would do such a thing. "You sound like an apologist."

"I speak with time earned wisdom, little girl. I offer no excuse or justification for what a man does when he commits rebellion, just as I would offer no excuse for a woman that hides behind names that are clearly not her own." She compounded the last statement with glare as the two of them rode gently down the hill. "I knew you were not Daein the moment the second word left your lips. You overcompensated with rolling your 'r', as if you were trying to choke on your own tongue. From the looks of your armor and sword, even ignoring how easily you fell into my conversation about the rebellion, I would say that you are a Crimean from the Northern Providences."

Lucia felt a cold fire erupt in her stomach, had she really been disarmed that easily. She was about to counter before Agatha continued to speak. "It is well below freezing weather and you are covered in a film of greasy sweat. That usually indicates that you teleported here by means of warp dust. The sword you carry is a long blade that is designed for flourishes and deft maneuvers, so with the lighter armor I can deduce that you are a trueblade. The other weapons tell me that you are here for an assassination, obviously the man you were keen about mentioning earlier."

Lucia found her jaw moving but no words coming out of it. She reached down to her skin and uncorked the whiskey to have a drink of it. The bitter liquid was most welcoming and she could hear Agatha chuckle. She was the Minister of Internal Security, damn it! She was supposed to be better than this! She had conducted espionage before, into the heart of other nations even, and now she was out in the boonies to be revealed by some old woman?

If she had not seen how easily she dispatched the three turncoat assassins, Lucia would have considered drawing her sword and killing Agatha. She squashed the thought as it arose. "What are you to do about it?"

Agatha shook her head. "Nothing. You came here to try and kill a man who has earned the deserved reputation of a fighter and leader. I actually am looking forward to seeing how you would accomplish that."

The two women reached the bottom of the hill and looked at their destination. At the bottom was the waystation, little more than a stone hovel near the edge of a lake. There were several horses and a man speaking to another. The two looked as if they were in a business transaction, and Lucia saw the man in the white cloak.

His hair was longer than she had last seen him, his face was cracked with a few new scars, but when the men shook on something and looked at the new arrivals, those familiar hazel eyes locked with hers. It was in that moment, she knew she had found him. She also noted several of her other hired assassins were nearby, ready to move when she gave the order.

Ludveck realized who he was looking at and cursed under his breath. "Oh… fuck me."

Before the calm of the forest was interrupted by another storm of violence and bloodshed, Agatha poured herself some more tea. She was in no hurry to deny the emotions of her new travel companion, and she wanted to see how well the Crimean prodigal son could handle himself against his own kind.

It was a little unfortunate, however, the peace poets could write about was quickly broken.


	20. Chapter 19

Marek sat in the window still that looked out towards the docks, one leg hung over the edge as he clutched his rapier to his shoulder. The sun was reaching the equinox, soon he would head back into that trial. The look on his face told how tired he was of it all, either coronate him or send him on his way where he could make himself useful. "Having quite the handful of a day?" He heard a voice ask him and he craned his head to see who the speaker was.

He cracked a halfhearted smile as Mia leaned against the support beam not far from him. "Oh, it has been quite busy. I got this new sword, the queen tried to gut me like a fish with her blade, and now I have spent since then lounging around doing nothing trying to think of my agenda for when I ascend to the Overlord. I actually get to speak today and not just to insult someone."

"Sounds like a busy workload, mind if I help?" She asked with a hint of laughter to her voice, causing Marek to slide over on the ledge so she could have some space to sit down. "I actually saw the fight, it seemed you took mine and Geoffrey's advice when it comes to swordplay. You held your own and didn't try to play to the Queen's advantages."

"Well that was the first lesson Geoffrey taught me. If I am fighting an opponent who is stronger than I am, I shouldn't use their own style against them. Elincia was a heavy hitter who fought from horseback, so I wasn't going to try to outmatch her, my blade isn't designed for it." Marek explained as he held his sword out, doing a few gestures with it as it sliced through the air. "She attacks as if she is chopping wood half the time, a bit slow but from what I have been told it is strong enough to cleave leather and mail like papyrus."

"You should have seen her in actual battle. I am good, but I could never master fighting on horseback beyond simply running an opponent down and thrashing them there. She seems as if she was born in the saddle, and the combat from soon came to her after she learned how to handle the damned thing." Mia said as she stretched her arms over her head in the rays of the sun.

"You mean to tell me that the queen had troubles with the blade? Seemed like a great fighter when we squared off today." Marek stated with a slight tone of surprise to his lips.

"Aye, she is quite the fighter, though she is too embarrassed to admit that for the longest time she couldn't figure out what end of the sword she needed to hold." Mia explained as a snicker escaped her lips at the memory from the Mad King's War. "I remember watching Ike try to help her perfect the grip, it was so loose that as soon as she swung the blade it flew out of her hands and the blade cut through Soren's canvas tent! That was the first time I heard him swear so proactively!"

Marek laughed a bit harder than he should have at the thought of it. The image of his queen being such a novice with her blade was quite amusing to picture in his head. "Well, it is thankful that she improved her swordsmanship as well, though equally thankful is that she doesn't rule through it." Marek made the comment, and he noted that Mia's features changed for a brief moment. Sensing that there would not be another chance in the near future, he took the chance. "Speak your mind. My words must have stirred something."

"It is nothing of consequence." Mia responded, perhaps faster than she had originally intended.

"I do not like lies, especially when I am being told them." Marek stated flatly, eliciting a scowl from the young knight. "Speak now or do not speak of it again."

"Only if you tell me about your injuries. The ones that restrained you from using your full body during the duel. Ihave fought with you enough times to know that there was something off about how you handled yourself then. You didn't develop a suit of plate armor under your skin, you were supposed to be more fluid. I also know that you rarely hold back, be it insulting or fighting." Give the devil her due, Mia was quite perspective. Marek winced at the demand but he opened himself up to it. He could lie and be justly labeled as a hypocrite, but he didn't need that. Not now at least.

He glanced behind his shoulders and made sure that there was no one else that would be overhearing their conversation for both of their sakes. "I met a few nice chaps the night before. I was practicing on the battlements before the rain set in, then they came out of the shadows with this." He reached into a sack that he had leaning against the wall, and pulled put a curved machete like blade that was predominately used in agriculture, specifically when it came to sugar canes and thick fruit vines. "A kukri knife. Damned thing almost spilled my guts more than once."

Mia examined the blade and nodded at the impressive knife, noting the layer of caked blood on the edge. "So you were attacked by a group of angry farmers? Give them credit I would not have expected that to happen here."

"No." He smirked at himself for the next part. "You learn things when you are lost in books, and I had the Commander of the Royal Knights watching my back so I could devour all the knowledge available to me."

Mia rolled her eyes as she ran her thumb along the blade, a ruby drop of her own blood formed when she pulled back. "Soren set you up for that one?"

"He did, you would be surprised how much he wanted to say that. Anyways, the knife is found in the southern section of Crimea, but each providence or holding must make theirs a different way. Out of different materials, a different metal mixture, a different sheath, or a different pattern. The punishment for carrying one different is punishable to a harsh degree so they practically carry it on them at all times. It's a habit engrained into their culture."

"One that apparently dies hard. So what is the special factor about this one?" Mia said as she looked the knife over again. It had a different type of steel that almost looked as if it was made from peral and the handle was made from some sort of bone with rivets of copper that shined in the noon light.

"The steel is commonly called Sienne steel. Through a process of both smelting and part religious ritual, this metal is made and easily refined. By one book I read, it is said to be the metal from which Asheraune crowned herself and by making it ourselves we connect closer to her. In truth, this metal is really used as decorative or light duty due to the brittleness of the metal. It breaks easy, but can hold an edge like obsidian. Only one providence in the southern region can use Sienne steel for their knives on pain of losing their dominate hand. The capital, Rosewood. The home seat of Overlord Arkin."

"But how do you know it was someone from that city and not someone who took the blade?" Mia asked. A fair question, but one Marek had already found an answer to.

"I have my sources, and they can confirm my visual observation. Long and the short of it, they knew exactly what this knife was made of and how to use it without risking the chance of it cracking. They were held by hands that were trained with it, not given." She passed the knife back to him and he made sure that it was buried well in the satchel he had. "Though we should even our field now. I told you a secret I tried to hide, now it is your turn."

Mia looked up at the sky and a sigh escaped her lips. "Hearing you speak about how good it is for Elincia to rule by both her wits and intelligence rather than blistering speeches and perceived strength at arms brought back a few memories from my earlier days as a soldier."

Marek cocked an eyebrow at the statement. "Soldier? I thought you were a mercenary for the longest time until recently when Elincia knighted you for your defense of Dunkirk."

Mia gave a sad smile. "In name I was a mercenary, in truth I was little more than a child soldier who was conscripted to fight in the Crimean army during one of the many peasant revolts in the years preluding the Mad King's War. I wasn't officially placed on the roster, and if you are labled a mercenary hardly anyone spares a second look at you."

"That was a little before my time, was the army in that bad of shape?" Marek asked with a perplexed look in his eyes.

And mercenary units were that good. They were hired by nobles and the king, who in turn would hire or conscript orphans, bastards, or youngest children with no real prospects in life. It got me thinking about Ramon and how he saw enemies in every shadow closer to the end of his reign, and how he would order his sellsword army elements to raze entire villages to flush out bandits and radicals." The smile was gone and she looked into the distance without any focus. "The first unit I served with excelled in those slaughters."

She went silent, and Marek was respectful of the silence. He would wait for her to continue speaking and not act like an idiot and fill the void with noise. "I met Ramon once with Queen Sylvanis, as they walked my platoon through the ruins of some village that had no name, celebrating the butchering that we had taken part in there. They thought we were loyal soldiers attacking foes of the state, never found out what they did to be put to the torch in such a way but it would be forgotten as a bandit attack as their 'honor guard' would clean up the dark stains."

She spat into the breeze, a scowl laced her features. "As a child, I had nightmares that a demon would come and attack me in my bed. It was the most horrifying thing I saw, until I saw a monarch watch with pride as we attacked rebellious peasants before he complained about headaches again. Beofre long, we had a real enemy to fight and you know how that song and dance number went when the Mad King came. When I saw Ramon's daughter, I was afraid that the boss was going to follow the same mistake I did with her father."

She shook her head. "Thanks be to Ahseraune I was wrong."

"A child shouldn't be burdened with the sins of the parent."

"Nor should one brother suffer for the follies of another."

* * *

Micaiah spared one last look out of her window, taking in the scenery as she enjoyed a moment of silence from the discussions that she led since early morning. She made a sarcastic prayer to the goddess that this would be over soon, one she knew would not be answered in the way she desired, and returned to the twenty other lords and ladies that filled the secondary study. She straightened her hair and drank some more strong tea, far too early in the day for wine. At least in front of guests.

As she sipped, Lord Dresden spoke. "Your demands for the vote infringes on our sovereignty, regardless of the trade you offer to us."

"As my wife has explained, we are not telling you to vote this way. We are merely using this vote as a condition for our trade agreement." Sothe explained as he fiddled with his gem encrusted knife. "When the Conference of Tellius gathers, how do you think anything passes between the monarchs? We make agreements that better the nations through deals and compromises. The only other solution would be through martial acts, and neither one of our empires would benefit from another war. Now, you cannot fight us individually without bringing the full might of your motherland into the fray, but you can discuss a beneficial trade agreement that would put you ahead of your peers."

Micaiah nodded in agreement. The larger problems would be resolved during the annual gathering of sovereigns to handle continental problems. Treaties would be signed there that would alter the course of statesmanship there, but here in this secluded study, surrounded by books of forgotten names and records, smaller problems would be dealt with to ensure votes would go according to plan. Since the vote for Marek's ascension was done publicly and not through a private ballot, the benefits could only happen when the person made the right choice.

She looked over the list they had been working on since early morning. There was the matter of the silver trade which was heavily regulated on both fronts, the lifting of trade tariffs, the exact borders and how each side handle travelers should be done. Establishing a utilitarian measurement system, quality checks, banditry solutions, and the list went on and on.

These were minor things, in the grand scheme. Begnion and Daien had different measuring systems, and while it was an annoyance to translate the weight of one Daein Stone to a Begnion Pound, it was nothing that destroyed trade. Quality checks, especially when it came to metal imports/exports, were already being done but it seemed that Lady Resifield of Olfent felt as if the checks were not in her favor.

That is why she dealt with the lords and ladies individually rather than bring up this long list of demands with the Queen. They could easily be solved or placated without any disruption to her own nation as a whole, and the same would be said with Crimea. A small exception would not be noticed unless the lord bragged about it at the top of his lungs. But currying favors with others got the wheels of state moving in the direction anyone desired.

The queen did not explicitly tell Micaiah to do such a thing, which would be considered subterfuge and a scandalous firestorm awaiting to alight against the both of them. However, Micaiah needed someone like Marek to be a voice in Crimean politics. He was young, level headed, and focused on practical results rather than appealing to legacy. As Overlord, he would oversee the North and select councilors and diplomats. He would be, in theory at least, the one of the first among equal advisors when it came to matters of state.

Though peace had come since the end of the Unspoken War, Micaiah could feel the winds of change howl in the night. The Pax Crimea and the Daein Renaissance were the greatest periods of advancement that either nation could ever recall in their recorded history, it was a gilded façade that hid darker truths about something under the surface. Radicals boiled under the surface in the ensuing power void, and there would be challenges in the future that would upset the natural order of things. In such times, the countries had to gather against a resurgence of dangerous ideas and men with nothing but a belief in their cause. If the monarchs did not stand together, they would all fall separately.

Perhaps it was because she was a foreigner, she just saw the problems clearer in this nation. Elincia did warn Michiah that Crimea, even before the joining of the Bird Tribes, was a diverse nation with a thousand and one different views for every one hundred citizens.

In truth, Elincia had fallen into the typical pitfall of believing the struggles of her nation were unique. They were, for a fact, not. Elincia cautioned Micaiah against dealing with Southern and Eastern nobles on matters of the ecclesiastic because they were unusually pious. Micaiah knew that this was not a freak occurrence but rather it was because of the shared borders with the Theocratic Senatorial Monarchy of Begnion. In Daien, their southerners were pious because that is where Begnion missionaries came from first when entering their nation.

Eastern Crimean lords could be confused for Western Daien nobles because of their similar mindsets when it came to matters of warfare and individualism. Again, this was because of the natural and political geography and not because of an isolated cultural incident.

Northerners were fiercely Crimeans, perhaps due in no small part to the Capital being in the geographic north and they were the last of the senatorial lands of antiquity Begnion to be settled. They carved out what was the frontier there, and from that challenge they emerged different than their other peers who settled in lands closer to their motherland.

Western Crimea was more familial with laguz and had a greater interest with their relations. Again, this was due to the natural social relations because of their geography bordered on Galia. The openness and corporation with all laguz was still mostly shared by the nobles than the smallfolk under their leadership, but less xenophobic tendencies were common in that reason through the mere fact of exposure.

So it did not concern Micaiah with this collection of ideologies. She had expected it to occur and would be even more surprised if it did not appear present in this.

What concerned her was the collection of southern nobility that sat quietly in the back without making much of a sound. They sat behind one man, not their overlord but someone unfamiliar to her. He was old, but he smelled of new blood. If she wasn't as proud, she could almost feel something that bordered on the lines of intimidation as this withered sack of meat sat almost directly across from her with a disarming smile. She heard others refer to him as Erebus, a name she felt as if she should have felt something but she lacked the interest at the moment to find out.

Soon, the room fell silent not because this man spoke, but because he didn't. One by one, the lords and ladies of Crimea turned to face this old man who held a document in his hand. "Your excilency, I have spoken with several of my allies and I think that if you and Queen Elincia are willing to discuss changes to one of the treaties Count Bastain signed, we would be more than willing to see Marek ascend to his rightful place."

Micaiah felt her ears twitch at such an offer, but knew that if such a thing were to occur, she may have to give something in return. Sothe folded his hands and asked, "What treaty are you asking for a revision of?"

"The Conclave of Damocles." The response was not one she expected to hear, in truth she was perplexed why it was stated. "It has caused great damage to our religious communities, and while we agree with many of the propositions placed in the document, myself and several other lords have made a revision that would serve its purpose while no longer hamstringing the ecclesiastic elements of our nation."

 _Which is half the reason it was created_. Micaiah thought in her head as she recalled the document she worked with Elincia and signed through Count Bastian. It was a document designed to avoid the rift the original Begnion Synod had created with the rulers and common folk, averting a civil war. The document placed the churches and other religious institutions as neither the master nor servant of the country, something separate from the normal channels of state affairs. It removed the ability for churches to raise warriors on their behalf and eliminated many taxation exceptions granted by governing bodies, in turn it gave the church more freedom to preach and travel. It gave more power to the secular state in terms of surviving while keeping the religious content with their own share of influence.

Why would a noble man named Erebus want to upset this new balance of power? But, in truth she couldn't justly deny the motion outright. She opened her hand and made a gesture with her four fingers demanding that the parchment would be passed over. The old man slid the document over and Micaiah nodded in appreciation.

"I cannot promise you that we will accept this document, but I can swear I will bring it up with the Queen later tonight and we can see if these changes are for the best." Micaiah stated calmly, and Erebus raised his palms as the wrists rested on the table, a universal sign that he found that to be acceptable enough. Whatever was in this collection of papers, he must have felt assured that they would find it agreeable.

The discussion continued, providing many more items of discussion, counter and argument. Before the sun began to dip from its apex and the lords began to depart, Micaiah allowed herself to relax tired and worn out in her chair. She wsa exhausted, and thankfully there was none other than her husband to witness her in such a state of exhaustion.

If some of the more nationalistic elements of the Meritocracy had heard about the discussions, they would attack her as making Daein the rug the rest of Tellius would walk on. But for every concession she made, she got something for herself in adition to a vote of affermitve. Small things perhaps, but platinum and iron were needed materials the North of Crimea could bring, while lumber from the West would rebuild her cities, and the South offered food for the hellwinters. Even if Marek was not appointed, though considering how much Elinica stated to her it needed to happen, she did not come away empty handed.

Yet again, she found herself working all because of some Crimean lord that the Elincia had a great interest in. At least this one didn't have the unbridled love of her husband like the first one did.


	21. Chapter 20

**Another day, heh, another chapter. I would like to say that updates will be more regular, though I am doing a semester long internship that requires a lot of work. We will see but hopefully it will not be as long of a wait than this one was.**

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Geoffrey was a man who saw and went through so much in his short twenty-three years of life that he had thought it impossible to be surprised any longer. The Mad King's War, The Uprising, The Unspoken War, and most recently the Slaughter of Volus had taken much of the surprise out of his system. So when he felt an eyebrow raise when he heard Marek spoke about policy with passion and determination, it was something he was not expecting.

He was an orator, trained by Bastian to use his voice properly but didn't learn his colloquialisms, thankfully. If Soren could keep Marek pinned down to one subject at a time, there was little doubt that Marek would have made quite the proficient mage, but the knowledge Soren imparted to the young man from Feliare showed clearly. Topics about taxation, public works, and natural resources were boring but the way Marek spoke about them with zeal, others could not help themselves but listen.

It was here that Marek showed his true strengths, the ability to clearly explain how he would promote domestic and international relations with significant details. He rarely mentioned how Felaire would be affected, he would be lord once he was given the title officially by Elincia when she released him as a ward of the crown. He argued for the position of Overlord, and did not fall into the pit trap of confusing the two.

It was also the first time in a considerable amount of time that Geoffrey could remember his young ward clothed himself as a lord should be clothed. An immaculate cape of dark brown fur lined with silver threads and a blue satin cover hung about his shoulders, while greys and greens made the rest of his clothing. He wore no symbols of office, no gold hung from his neck or upon his fingers. Well dressed, but not to the point of extravagance.

Geoffrey spared a look to Elincia, hiding his frustration with her recent decision to send his sister off to goddess knows where to kill Ludveck well. She kept the neutral face that was to be expected in such situations, but Geoffrey noted the pride she showed in the corners of her eyes. He wanted to focus on that, but he found his attention soured by her recent actions and why he was now the only one sitting at the table that was originally meant to have two siblings from Delbrey.

He felt one of his spare hands reach to his knight's clasp that held his cloak to his armor, ideally tracing the rose and chain as his memory told him every grove of the well-worn pendent. Depending on the outcome of Lucia's wasteful errand, he could very well be making a rash but justifiable decision about his place in Crimean politics. He prayed it wouldn't come to it, but he had a feeling that it would go unanswered like many prayers.

Geoffrey turned his attention back to Marek, and noted that the question posed by the Chronicler was about defense of the nation. "-so the needs of the Crimean Poechilian Kingdoms demand a greater military force, but I do not believe that by simply increasing the size of the military will solve the problem. The Royal Knights and Hunter Cadres are the only forces that protect the nation as a whole. As Lords, we all on lesser Lords, who in turn send out their captains and trusted men to round up the smallfolk to be given arms and armor if they are generous enough. Often times, I have read that mobs of hastily organized peasants charged armored lines with nothing but farming tools and rusted blades. Why focus on expansion rather than consolidation?"

"You suggest we should not expand our might and take advantage of the expeditions to the land beyond the Frostwolf moutains?" It was a question posed by a lord he was unfamiliar with, and he did not ask who he was because Marek did not are at the moment.

"No, at the moment there are too many unknowns to have the nations play their hand at colonies abroad. Rumors of their vast richness in land and resources are at the moment just that, rumors. Forgive me, but I feel quite skeptical when a letter returns with the mention of pastures of saffron but not a strand to prove it. When more information comes, then a decision will be made. Until then, I would not chase a ghost because I would only waste my energy and come back empty handed." Marek explained. There were a few general murmurs of accent at the thought, let the expeditions take their course before serious considerations are discussed.

A voice from the front of the room, too deep to be beorc spoke from behind Marek. "Have you considered your choice as to a mate?" Marek did not need to look behind him to identify the speaker as the king.

Marek paused for a moment. It was something that was going to be of concern, especially if something were to happen to him before he selected a wife. His brothers were young, far too young to even consider ruling. But he sensed the real question under it all, was he willing to marry a bird tribe if offered the choice. Last night did show him some of the… physical advantages they have and Kalidor showed that hawks had many different angles to them beyond honorable savages. He took in a breath of air and gave his answer. "The day comes when I am to join someone in matrimony, I will not discount the option of marrying a laguz of any tribe. The stigma of the branded, while not entirely eliminated, has been significantly reduced in no small part to the marriage and children of our royal family, but also because the laguz no longer has to sacrifice their identity for a single child."

There was some chattering at this, a Crimean lord considering to wed a laguz? The thought, while no longer a taboo to be spoken aloud as if one claimed that gravity was a myth, was still a tender subject to approach. Marek would not be drowned out. "Hear me, I will not surrender to such base fears of xenophobia or what some more outspoken advocates have called for in regards for all nobility to intermarry now. It is something to be decided for two individuals and their families if need be. Let us not joke about it but marriage for us nobles has a mark of political ambitions regardless of the amount of love between the two, doubly so for the overlords."

A weak chuckle passed through the audience, and Mark continued. "Marriage will come in its own due time, I needn't force its hand at this moment or else it would not occur ever again. We shall see what hand fate deals me in this regard, though until then the discussion is moot. Further-"

A voice rang out, and Geoffrey raised his head to see who the speaker was. It was another Overlord, Overlord Gorman who spoke next, his thick bushy beard quivering as he yelled to interrupt Marek. "A moot point? The fruit of your loins is moot compared to the political needs of the nation? Bah, I should only expect such a response from the ward who hides behind Maid Geoffrey's skirt." There was laughter, though it was sparse and contained entirely by the Overlord's posse.

As he felt his eyebrow twitch, Geoffrey considered for the briefest of moments to draw his sword and kill the fool where he stood. However, Marek waved a dismissive gesture to Geoffrey as if reading his thoughts. Marek strode off from his place towards the raging old lord. Marek cared little for Gorman's insults, he had interrupted him to spread those insults. If he was going to command equal respect, then by Bastian's beard he was going to enforce that.

Marek soon stood in front of Gorman, maintaining eye contact all the while. The two stood there for a moment with heavy breathing coming from the Eastern Overlord. Marek than looked to Gorman's crest on the lapel of his coat, and bushed off the dandruff that obscured places of it. However, once he had cleaned it off, he did not remove his hand.

In a fluid movement born from training, Marek grabbed the pin and pulled the Overlord down to his height and Marek brought his forehead crashing down with the force of a hammer onto the nose of the prideful Gorman. He heard bones crack and a splash of blood cover his cheeks. Gorman was down on the ground holding back a torrent of blood as the supporters did nothing in reaction to such an act. "Speak when you are spoken to, Gorman."

Geoffrey smiled, though he felt it grow when he saw Michiah's and several herons' looks of shock at a violent act. Gorman was a loud fool that had a questionable past when it came to loyalty, but what he respected above all was strength and daring. Gorman rose to his feet and let out a roar of laughter even as blood freely flowed from his shattered nose to his chin and to the stone floor. "So, you have a spine and that was a proper fucking strike!"

Geoffrey steppled his fingers as the Wild Overlord showered his ward with praise, a satisfied smile still on his face. Marek was certainly learning the follies his brother did not understand. One rarely made an impact on the world by remaining in one mindset. Ludveck the Militant, Gorman the Wild, Geoffrey the Loyal, all were fitting titles and showed the predictable nature and how they could be relied upon for good or ill intentions. Marek was calm, collected, but also able to show outbursts of violence when the situation demanded. He would be secure in his position of Overlord before long.

He had the support he needed, well, most of it. Arkin of the south sword that someone else would sit in the North and that Marek could do so only over his broken corpse. There was some agreement from his ardent followers, but there were many who remained silent through the display of ego. His hold was weakening and he wondered what caused such a normally loyal force to be turned into a group of mild sheep.

Sasha was never a concern and now that Gorman was in his favor, the beorc lords seemed assured as their Overlords now nodded in Marek's approval. The Herons were difficult to read, but he had heard conversations of giving Marek the confirmation if he was open to the idea of taking a heron or other bird to wife.

Things were almost over, though for some reason he could not shake, Geoffrey had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was about to go very wrong tonight.

* * *

A warrior should not fight emotionally. Since the day they took up blades, they were taught to do nothing but strike with cold precision. End the fight, deal with the feelings later. Emotions made a swordsman clumsy, one that would open themselves up to wounds and would easily be bested.

Though in this moment, there was nothing but emotion as the two Crimeans attacked each other. Steel struck steel, ancestral weapon against symbol of the nation. Ludveck against Lucia, in both minds it was a fight that should have happened years ago. Initial confusion gave way to panicked response, which in turn became a frenzy of anger, hatred, and fear.

Ludveck brought his father's sword against Ratitone, the slight curve in his blade allowing him to make more fluid blocks than Lucia's blade. However, the same could not be said when it came to her allies. They were constantly nipping at his heels, just stopping of doing any damage to him, but enough to upset his focus and allowing the first among equals to land several strikes herself.

Agatha sat on the wall overlooking the frozen lake, content with watching the frenzied combat unfold before her eyes. Her tea was still warm, and she wished to enjoy it before she had to deal with the consequences of either side. She watched with a casual observation, picking up the fatal holes that both parties showed in their defense. Ludveck was caught off guard and was only lightly armored with leather and scale mail on the pits and forearms, and he was still recovering from the shock of seeing a former friend leading a group of glorified brigands against him. Still, he was opening himself to too many strikes and probing blows that threatened to gut him where he stood.

The same could be said for the assassins. They were attacking him with an almost maddening arrogance that they only did that: attack. Their attacks were enough to offset their opponent then withdraw before another blow was stuck that mitigated Ludveck's capability for a reprisal strike. It seemed as if they were going for death by a thousand cuts, though they seemed restrained almost in their execution.

The focus of the fight was clearly on Lucia, who while she was a great swordswoman in her own right, was too engulfed with anger to notice how easy it would be to guess her next move and the opening it would make. Arrogance perhaps, because of these assassins outnumbering her target? Maybe, in truth Agatha had neither the knowledge nor interest to find out.

No matter how well Ludveck fought, he was still only one man. Quantity usually overwhelmed quality given enough time. A dagger struck out at his back, piercing the leather and mail he wore under his cloak, eliciting a sound of pain. Before the assassin could pull the dagger free, Ludveck spared one hand from his blade and grabbed the man's throat. He lifted the assassin off the ground and considered him for a moment as one would study an insect, then closed his hand into a fist with several wet snaps. The assassin went into spasms and fell to the ground as he writhed with a crushed throat for the final few painful moments of his life.

Lucia spun her blade in her hands and adopted a reversed handed grip. She swung low, cutting through the cloth but not enough to pierce the thick leather and mail grieves he wore on his shins. His armor was light and tough, but every protection had their own weakness, and surely his would be revealed in the fullness of time. He dispatched another assassin in a single strike, parting a raven laguz from left to right with renewed vigor. Lucia didn't like having assassins, hired killers of all things, die for her. It felt dirty to talk about such things, and no doubt Paris would have a lot of questions that would need to be answered truthfully. Goddess take her, he was very skilled at reading lies from faces.

It needed to be like the stories she read him at bedtime for both of their sakes. If she was going to get any closure from this battle, she would need to be the one that would deal more than the deathblow.

There was something that was in the periphery of his mind, Ludveck winced as he held his blade instinctively at the guard as two more assassins came after him. Like a drum behind his eyelids, Ludveck felt the raw power of creation echo with primal force. He pushed it aside and focused on the here and now. A dagger slashed across his face, it drew a light streak of blood. He spun his father's blade and battered another strike away.

Then the assassins moved away as the trueblade Maiden of Crimea made a gesture with her off hand. They kept their distance, but kept their guard up. Ludveck felt his muscles tense as he awaited a simultaneous attack that would surely defeat him. Even with his enhanced training, he could feel fatigue set in. The dagger in his back, he could remove the tip that had embedded itself in his skin easily enough but a moment's distraction could spell doom for him. He kept his grip fixed on his blade.

Lucia held her sword in one hand, pointing to him with the blade with her arm extended. "You have kept your skills sharp in your exile." The sentence drifted to an awkward end, as if she was unsure what to call him. Traitor, Ludveck, old friend?

"While yours have maintained." Ludveck said with a ragged breath, and he grinned with scarlet stained teeth. "You always were the better sword wielder."

She moved closer cautiously, circling him while Ludveck slowly pivoted on his stance. Lucia launched a probing thrust, and was quickly parried away in a circular riposte. "Flattery will not lower my guard, I will see you dead before the sun sets this day."

"You keep speaking threats Lucia, what makes you think I am listening to them?" Ludveck responded as he tried again to push the thundering echo of power in his mind away. He had just learned he could use this, how was he going to wield the damnable thing? He felt a grin fall over his face, knowing how he could win this fight. "I have seen many things and talked to quite a few people in my time since I returned from imposed exile. A most curious conversation happened yesterday."

"You should conserve your breath, you may need it before long." Another strike by Lucia scored his cloak, but did little else. The assassins could intervene, attack and end this once and for all. However, if Lucia could end the life of their target without them so much as lifting a finger, then free coin would be given to them. "I care not for your talking companions."

"Ha, you may like this one. A little boy, no more than four years old bumped into an associate of mine." He parried another strike, Lucia still not following the story judging by the look on her face. "A little child scared for the well being of his family that he blamed himself for all of the misfortunes his mother faced by having him. 'Bastardborn, the child who should not be, whose mother should have drowned him in the river than live with the constant reminding of shame.' The names his mother's peers call him when they think he cannot hear."

Now the pieces were being placed together, and Lucia hesitated for a moment for Ludveck to land a powerful open palm that sent her staggering back and her left cheek flaring with pain. She recovered before long, but not before she felt a blade score her back, causing a gasp of pain to escape her lips. Ludveck retracted his blade, grabbed the dagger that had been lodged in his back and pulled it free with a grunt of effort. He held the knife in his off hand and gripped his sword higher to gain a tighter control on its movement.

Lucia spun around with anger lacing her features, her voice wavering. "Who did you speak of?"

"Come now Lucy, I think you would know your son when you hear how he views himself." He said with a condescending smile lacing his features. A shriek of anger erupted as Lucia threw herself at Ludveck, swinging wildly with strength neither of them expected. Ludveck countered and parried, conserving his strength as he removed his desire to keep the power building up in him aside. It would happen soon, and he needed to be sure it would work.

Magic was a fickle thing, and wild magic even more so. Emotions painted the potency of magic, direction and control required emotions that were collected and reserved. Power required raw emotion, primal feelings since the darkest days of the wars against creation. Ludveck could draw upon Lucia's anger at the idea of him talking to her son, and all the other emotions she was feeling at that moment. Just a little bit more, that was all he needed.

He was caught up in his plan that he failed to notice that Lucia had battered aside his guard and slashed downwards, carving his cheek open and cutting his cheek bone. He screamed in pain and tasted his own coppery vitality flood his mouth. He spat the blood out and tongued a cracked tooth. He tossed the dagger at her, which she deflected effortlessly but it allowed him enough tie to bring the hand to his open wound and slurred a few healing incantations. The bleeding stopped and before the day was out it would be healed with minimal scarring. It still hurt like a whoreson but it kept his mind focused.

With a burst of pride that she had cracked the aegis of defense around Ludveck, Lucia thrusted her blade forward directed at the heart of her former childhood friend. Ludveck smiled through pink stained teeth and grabbed the sword as it came in. Her attack stopped but she saw the assassins move in or leap for the kill, finally it would be over.

She then saw the ice that worked down the fuller of her blade and the sudden windstorm that had came out of nowhere. Her coat whipped around her and she felt her skin become inflamed pink and dry as the temperature dropped dramatically. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Agatha continuing to sip tea but taking a few steps back from them.

The thundering in the back of his head was louder now, and it carried through him. Acting on instinct, he dropped his father's blade into the snow and held his free hand to the sky and felt the winds whip stronger. He felt the power well up inside of him, and his muscles quivered with the effort. Several of the remaining assassins that were close to him began to lose their footing in the wind, though Lucia tried to escape but felt her hand become frozen to the hilt of her blade that was kept firmly in his hands. Ice covered the entire blade and try as she might she could not move.

The storm raged with Ludveck in the eye of it all, a small cell that whipped artic winds fiercely with shards of ice with jagged sharpness. Dark greys and whites flew around them, occasionally with the flailing body of an assassin. They were helpless for what was next to come. The power continued to compress inside Ludveck and through force of will alone he held back the pain that ate at his mind with ravenous ferocity. Salvation demands sacrifice, it was a mantra he was taught since entering Triton's service. Now, as he felt the energies of creation flow through him with palatable violence, he understood it in greater clarity. Words he did not know flowed from his lips as he lowered his hand between both him and Lucia. His smile was still upon his face as he held up his first two fingers and thumb with a small mote of blue energy between them.

"A pity." He uttered the words and snapped.

An orb of wind and ice exploded outwards. Lucia raised her thick coat to protect herself from blast. Her grip on the sword came free as she was blasted across the opening. She slid across the snow until her back slammed into a hill where she remained. She heard the sound of stone shatter into a thousand pieces, of trees buckling and cracking under their weight, and the entire forest wailed as if it had been struck by a mighty hammer. Lucia kept herself protected until the echoes stopped and only looked when a peculiar type of calm had settled over the land.

She tasted copper in the air, and when she unshielded her eyes, she soon found why. Crimson stained snowflakes fell around her, her clothes were soaked in the life force of her cohorts, who laid scatted about. They were flayed and impaled by the shards of jagged ice that had come from seemingly nowhere. There was an azure vapor that wafted from the shards, and as the moments dragged on the ice began to fade into what could only be described as pure color that drifted away in the winds that whipped around them.

She had seen much in her life, though something about this scene caused her to be struck anew. Perhaps it was from the way they were killed, with shards of arcane ice juttered from torn bodies and fragments of their flesh scattered across the earth. Perhaps it was the stark contrast from the snow and blood. Perhaps it was because some bodies still moved with reflexes that slowly faded as more blood seeped from them into the hungry snow. Maybe it was all of them, but in that moment Lucia thought she saw hell in all of its terrible glory come to reality.

She laid, amongst the slaughter. Ragged remains of beorc and laguz blanketed the area around her, and as she remembered each face that was shredded as it gaped in horror. Her gaze then fell unto the man who caused this, who had recovered from this expulsion of wild arcane enough to hold his blade once again in front of him as he knelt in the stained snow.

She reached out blindly and soon found the hilt of her blade. Lucia gripped her own sword with a renewed vigor as she felt hate laced adrenaline course through her veins. Ludveck uttered a curse at her fortitude and pushed himself forward, blade in hand. The two met in the middle, blades interlocked as they fought with nothing but exhaustion and anger boiling in their veins. Even in their wrecked state of wounds and fatigue, both were unyielding as they moved further and further back until they were on the frozen edge of the lake.

Lucia was by far the better swordfighter. She was what many considered a trueblade, one who dedicated years of practice to the forms of sword fighting and the philosophy of battle. She was faster than Ludveck, faster by far with a better grace than many could only dream of mustering. She was a panther, agile, able to blend to her surroundings, and always going for the throat of her opponent. She was a master with her blade.

But Ludveck was the better fighter.

His focus was on one thing, to be the one that walked away from the fight alive. He had more recent experience fighting bandits, rangers, lone flayed ones, and other things that paled Lucia's training that had become less learning than it was conditioning to keep her skills sharp.

He had moved beyond the notion of Beorc honor for the sake of honor. He was more than ready to use any tool at his disposal to achieve victory. In a fight, if his opponent was superior to him, he would find the gap in the armor and strike there. Honor wore many different coats in the eyes of many different people.

Lucia and Ludveck continued to circle each other, swords at the ready for the final engagement. Hoping to catch him off guard once again, Lucia spoke. "It was always going to end like this, you knew it!"

He responded, but his eyes never left her own. "Perhaps." He adjusted his stature slightly so that Lucia readied her defense, but Ludveck failed to attack. "Though I think you would have wished it to happen four years ago, before you had other burdens added in addition to being the trained dog of Elincia before you brought a bastard into the world! Maybe soon I will visit him and pay the same courtesy you have shown me unto him."

He was taunting her, and though she prided herself in letting the words of others fall down her back like water, she felt her disgust rise.

She charged at him, a whirlwind of steel sent to silence him once and for all. Ludveck smiled as she lunged towards him with a downward thrust that sought to impale him from his skull to the bottom of his spine. He said the right words to incite her to act rashly, to toy with her mind. He had no intention of doing anything to her son, far from it. But in this moment, he needed that to be the only thought that passed through her mind.

He acted on his adjusted stance, and spun forward of the way of the sword thrust. He tightened the grip on his own sword and held it out like a lance. By the time Lucia realized what he had done, she felt cold steel enter her chest, slice her ribs and exit out of her back. Ludveck braced his arms against the sudden weight as he felt warm blood fall on his face as Lucia became impaled on his blade.

He continued to move forward and brought it down to ground. Lucia dropped her blade and as the two collided with the ground, she gasped in pain as her body felt the full extent of her injuries as crucible forged enchanted steel pinned her to the frozen earth. She was cut from every one of her limbs, and she was exhausted. Her lips were swollen, she felt bruises over her body from blows that came from his fists or when she turned a slash of a blade into a hammer blow. Blood, both hers and her allies, flowed freely from her skin and was either devoured by the pristine snow or joined the scarlet stained slush.

By comparison, Ludveck was battered but in better condition. He had plenty of cuts and gouges across his form, and a nasty wound across his face. Though he was strong enough to hold Lucia down as he kept the blade embedded in her flesh. He gasped for air in ragged breaths, his lungs felt as if they were on fire and the cold only continued the pain. His grip was firm, but his face softened from the monster look he wore when he was taunting to something more… human. "Yield."

She blinked exhaustion away from her eyes as she heard the word. Here she was, at his mercy knowing full well she would try to kill him the moment she recovered enough strength to drive a knife through his throat, did he just offer her a chance to surrender? Was he hoping for her to be his plaything again, a bartering chip?

No, not again.

She snarled and gripped the blade holding her to the ground with all of her strength. She would rather die than give him the satisfaction of torturing her. The blade cut into her fingers and the pain was numbed as she felt her life begin to slip away. "I will not… amuse you." She whispered.

"Damn it all, Lucia." Ludveck said back with a lower voice, and she knew her mind was playing tricks with her now because his voice was on the verge of cracking. "For pity sake, yield. If not for you, then for your son!" She kept her hand on the blade, but with fatigue dulled sight, she looked up as if she tried to judge the veracity of his words. "I have made too many orphans in this world. Do you wish for Paris to join that"

Her fingers let go of the blade. Her vision saw only the foggy outline of Ludveck and the growing form of Agatha as she felt her lips move to form two words she never wanted to say again. "I surrender." She heard the sound of a vial being uncorked and cold glass touching her lip as a vile but familiar taste of vulnerary slid down her throat. A hand closed over her nose and mouth, and her body reacted on instinct to swallow the concoction.

Her eyelids became too heavy to keep upright, so she closed them. As she slipped into a sleep that felt as if it would last a thousand years, she heard Agatha ask a question and Ludveck's response. "How will you treat her?"

"As a guest, one you will guard. Should anyone or myself act with intention to harm, then you may remove the offending limb."

And with a deafening reptilian roar off in the distance, Lucia knew no more.


End file.
